


The Wolves Wings

by SystematicDownfall, ValiantMurder



Series: The Adventures of Lyarra Stark [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Creative Outlet, F/F, F/M, Game of Thrones - Freeform, Gen, M/M, Multi, Original Content/ Characters, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-20 00:24:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 19
Words: 53,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3629766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SystematicDownfall/pseuds/SystematicDownfall, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValiantMurder/pseuds/ValiantMurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This tale follows the story of Lyarra Stark, twin of Robb Stark. Lyarra has an uncertain future in a world of chaos. This fic follows the course of Jon Arryn not dying of poisoning. The Baratheon children are believed to be exactly that and far across the Narrow Sea a Dragon struggles to find himself. SystematicDownfall writes for the Dragon whilst I write for the Wolf. </p><p>This fic is a bit of fun for both of us and is not beautifully accurate regarding the ASOFAI world like some of the other ASOFAI fics to be found on this website. (i.e. The Assembly of Ladies; or why there was no masque at the Tournament of Harrenhal, by  La Reine Noire (lareinenoire) or No Featherbed for Me by lit_chick08)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Catelyn Stark

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows a journey I have not thought through to the end, a very rough draft following a very roughly thrown together character. Read to waste time, procrastinate and avoid other worldly duties.
> 
> (ps. Visenya/ Rhaego Targayen obviously do not exist in the novels as they will in this work, both are the children (or twins, it is undecided) of Aerys II and Rhaella Targaryen.) This work will eventually connect to user SystematicDownfall's work "The Dragons Fangs" we are running ideas by each other which is why we are co-creators/authors to each others work.

Catelyn Stark moved into the Sept with a heavy heart. The Gods were not listening, she knew. Cat also knew that she should scold herself for thinking such dark things of the Seven; yet she could not bring herself to do so. Her children, strong and loud had been born not a moons past and since then the dreams had haunted her. Ned had not returned from Robert’s War and word was hard to come by in Riverrun, her Father believing that shielding her was the best form of protection. It wasn't the dreams alone that haunted her; but the words of a dragon long since dead.

_Catelyn Stark had been a Tully when she had first encountered the dragon. Strong and willful for a woman with hair as light as the summer’s dawn sun. Visenya Targaryen, second of her name had been visiting Harrenhal with the rest of Court for a tournament, which one, Cat had long forgotten. The Princess had arrived long before the rest of court, laughing with men twice her age; it was hard to think of her as a child, even then. The first thing Cat had noticed were her piercing eyes, the deepest lilac she had ever seen. The Princesses hair was bound in rings and her mouth was full of laughter and kind words. Riverrun did not hear too much of Kings Landing and the Red Keep, but what Cat had heard of this Princess whispered among the servants made her head dizzy: a Princess who rode as her brother rode, ate at small councils and practiced with a sword; she was everything Catelyn had been taught not to be._

_The Princesses eyes had only passed Cat, she had no reason to look upon other women with envy because she was bound to marry her brother Rhaego when they came of age. If Rhaegar had not married the Dornish beauty Elia then things might have been different; she would be Queen someday. But she had not dwelt on it, Visenya had no desire to take her Mother's place upon the throne._

_There was nothing overly memorable for Cat about this tourney from there on; nothing but a brief encounter with the Princess late at night after her stomach had been full of wine her Father would not have let her drink had she been anywhere else. Visenya was in the gardens on her knees, dirt covered her beautiful silk dress and her cheeks were stained with tears. Cat had been sure she had not made a sound as she went to sneak past the sight, but the Princesses eyes darted to her own all of a sudden; full of anger._

_“I know what you peasants think of me,” She growled, “I am willful and act as a man should act and not a lady” Cat said nothing, so cold were the Princesses words. “But one day you may bear a child who is as I am, and you will scorn her and shape her into something she was not designed to be;  then one day she will be your death and you will look back and think if only you had been a better Mother.”_

_Startled, Cat ran back to her rooms whilst Visenya remained, weeping alone in the gardens about something the young Lady of Riverrun would never understand._

Cat returned to herself when she heard the sound of her children crying, the wet nurse must have followed her to the Sept. When she turned the woman held only her daughter; the child rarely cried as her brother Robb did. Cat moved forward at once and took the babe into her arms, she had Stark grey eyes where Robb had blue, and but her thin hair was as red as Cat’s own.

“I’m sorry my Lady, she wouldn't stop crying no matter what I did” the wet nurse said in distress, Cat nodded in understanding and looked down at Lyarra’s little pink face.

“Do not worry,” she said to the woman as the child’s tears dried and she suckled on Cat’s finger, “she only wanted her Mother.”


	2. The Northern Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyarra Stark, second of her name and if she had been born a man, heir to Winterfell. Twin of Robb Stark and eldest child of Eddard and Catelyn Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story follows a journey I have not thought through to the end, a very rough draft following a very roughly thrown together character. Read to waste time, procrastinate and avoid other worldly duties.

A young girl with hair like fire jumped the wooden fence that surrounded the stables, once inside she dashed towards her prized stallion and quickly took him from his stall. The sun had barely begun to rise and so she felt she had enough time to saddle the beast today. Aemon, the beast, nudged the girl with his nose and snorted at the cold of the morning.

Once he was saddled the girl was atop him and headed out towards the gates of Winterfell; there she found her household guard captain Jory talking to some men, she waved ahead, cloak over her face but Jory took the reins and looked at the girl with concern.

“This is the third day, Lyarra. Can you not wait until your Lord Father rises?” Jory asked, but the girl shook her head. Jory understood and knew Lord Eddard would too – Lyarra knew this land as well as any born and raised on it. “I fear you will not find her,” Jory added, releasing the reigns and letting the Lady of Winterfell pass through the gates unhindered.

The cold had not yet settled over Winterfell; in fact the days were still quite warm for the North. _But winter is coming_ Lyarra reminded herself, sending a chill down her spine. Aemon galloped along the plains until they reached the last spot they had seen her: Aemon’s twin Valarr. Lyarra’s Mother Catelyn had scolded her for naming the horses after the Targaryen’s of old but Lyarra had insisted; their coats almost silver when clean reminded her so much of the tales Old Nan had read to her as a child. Aemon whined beneath Lyarra and she ran her fingers through his mane to reassure him. _We will find her_ she wanted to tell him, but three days had passed since Valarr had escaped during a storm and nobody had seen the beast. Hours passed by uneventfully and slowly until Lyarra heard the sounds of the guards coming to fetch her from her hunt. When she turned and headed back to Winterfell she was intercepted by her Father and some of the household guard.

“No luck?” Lord Eddard asked his eldest child, his tone almost mournful. Lyarra had received a pregnant mare from one of the surrounding Houses for her twelfth name day, the beast had died giving birth to Aemon and Valarr and since then Lyarra had raised the beasts with little help.

“None,” Lyarra replied heavily, “she must have gone further north, or west, or south. I do not know where or why. The Storm should not have spooked her so.” Eddard nodded and had his guards return to Winterfell.

“We will search a little longer, but I am afraid any tracks that once may have been would have been washed away by the summer rains by now.” Lyarra nodded in agreement but was thankful that her Father was willing to search with her once again; as he had done the previous three days.

They returned to Winterfell when the sun was at her highest peak in the sky and Lord Eddard commanded his daughter down to the kitchens to find herself some food, as he knew she would not have eaten since the previous night. Halfway there Lyarra encountered her Mother and younger sisters on their way to the Sept. Cautiously Lyarra stopped and waited for Catlyn to say something; her Mother were like fire and ice sometimes angry sometimes cool, for as long as she could remember her Mother had been distant from Lyarra’s life.

“Did you find Valarr?” Arya said without filtering, Catelyn looked at her youngest daughter without speaking before for an answer.

“No, but there is always tomorrow” Lyarra replied with a faint smile. “Would you like me to join you Mother?” she added cautiously, Catelyn smiled gently at her daughter.

“I know you do not keep my Gods child, why don’t you pray in the Godswood if you seek to speak to the Gods?” Lyarra felt wounded by her Mother’s words but had expected them, she smiled back and carried on to the kitchens without noticing Arya looking after her or Sansa’s curious gaze.

Cook saw Lyarra the instant her head bobbed into the kitchen, she called out to the young girl and forced her to sit at the bench that she was working at. As she chatted away to the girl Cook mentioned that the King would be visiting with his children to seek a royal marriage between the Northern Wolves and the Southern Stags, at least that was the gossip in the kitchens. Lyarra listened attentively as she thought of the King and his three children; she had met only one as a child and recalled making the the Prince, Joffrey cry when she pushed him into the gardens at Southern Court. Her Father had escorted her back to her rooms and scolded her mightily, but in the end he had had a smile on his face.

“I don’t suppose you feel like sharing what’s in that head of yours, little Lady?” Cook asked, Lyarra looked up bashfully at the woman she had known for as long as she could remember before replying. A round woman with red cheeks and a ready smile.

“I am afraid not, my thoughts are the only thing I get to keep to myself.” Cook laughed gently with the girl and pushed a plate of fruit, breads and cheese towards her.

“Eat this child, your Father would have my head if he knew how little you have been eating these past few days.” Lyarra complied and thanked the woman.

When she was finished eating Lyarra headed back towards the stables, pausing in the halls for a moment as she considered going to the Godswood as her Mother had suggested, she had not been for some time. Catelyn may be right about her not worshiping the Southern Gods, but Lyarra could not say the same about the Old Ones. Taking a different turn Lyarra’s pace lessened as she began closing the distance between her and the Godswood . Once they had made her feel safe, but recently she had a heavy feeling of shame hang about her shoulders every time she knelt before the Heart Tree; it’s eyes piercing her soul as it discovered secrets she could not share with anybody; not even the Gods.

Entering the sanctuary Lyarra slipped her shoes off and walked barefoot along the grass. Her heart felt heavy as she neared the Heart Tree, her eyes on the ground as she avoided the gaze of the Old One. She fell to her knees just before it, her right hand reaching up to caress the textured bark.

“Hello Old Ones” She whispered, “I am sorry that I have not been here of late, but my heart has been heavy as you know, as you _feel_ ” she added in her hushed tone. “Valarr has gone missing, but I fear that is the least of my burdens.”

“Lyarra?” Lyarra jumped, turning around in shock she laid eyes on a boy of her age, hair of gentle auburn and eyes as piercing as the blue sky; her brother Robb. “I didn't know whether or not you would come,” he added when he saw her shock.

“Oh” Lyarra almost laughed, she and Robb had been meeting in the Godswood since they were children – whether to discuss the goings on of Winterfell of to comfort one another from their trials. They were only fifteen now, too young to bear the burdens they bore in their hearts.

Robb frowned at his sister; his _twin_ sister whom he loved above all else. Of late she had been distant, afraid of her own shadow it appeared as he had never seen her jump as she had done at the sound of his voice. He knelt beside her and looked at the weirwood cautiously, feeling it’s gaze upon him made a chill run down his spine.

“Father tells us that you have had no luck finding Valarr,” Robb said gently, when Lyarra met his eyes she saw only a deep sympathy. “She will come home, Lyarra; you mustn't lose hope.” He placed his hand upon hers and Lyarra flinched beneath his touch, her eyes steadily returning to the grass on which they knelt.

“You sound just like Father,” Lyarra noted out loud, “but I do not think she is coming home Robb, something is wrong. Have you not felt the change?” She asked, her tone once again hushed.

“Only in you have I felt a change,” Robb replied just as quietly, “no longer do we speak; you can barely look at me. What have I done to offend you so, sister?” Lyarra looked into his blue eyes and wondered how he could not feel as she felt, see what she saw, they were one and the same; after all.

“I am afraid,” Lyarra replied honestly, “things cannot stay the same forever and soon we will be married to strangers, you will be the Lord of Winterfell someday and I wonder if you will even remember my face” Lyarra looked down at their hands, tears threatening to overflow from her sad grey eyes.

“Of course I will remember your face Lyarra” Robb said loudly, shocked by her words. He reached forward and took her chin in his left hand, holding her gaze steadily. “Your face is the only face I will always remember; long after you are gone from this place; over our Mother and Father. It is your face that has brought me the most joy, I could not forget you if I tried”

The tears that had threatened to overflow fell now as she wept and Robb pulled her close to his chest. He knew what had brought this on but he dare not speak of the coming of the Royal family or the moments they had shared in the past moon. Instead he simply held his sister close to his chest and wished that they had been born differently; if only for the sake of Lyarra’s happiness. When he looked up from her auburn hair it was the weirwood tree he felt staring back at him and in its face he truly believed he saw the old God's anger.

At dinner that evening Lord Eddard announced that King Robert would be attending Winterfell’s Court with his eldest son Joffrey – but that was all he would tell them. No matter how he was pressed by the children he kept quiet, small smiles appearing on his face now and then. Sansa started talking excitedly with Jeyne Poole about meeting the Prince for the first time; it was told that he was as handsome as his Uncle Jaime and as brave too. From Lyarra’s encounter with the Prince as a child she doubted he was more than another arrogant Lord's son, but instead of bonus land a marriage to him would come with a crown some day. Arya was more pleased about the news of the King and his Knights coming to Court, a feeling that Lyarra secretly shared with her.

“Do you think that the Kingslayer will be coming with them too?” Arya whispered excitedly to Lyarra as she walked with her sister back to her rooms.

“I don’t know Arya, perhaps – although I hear that the Queen likes to keep her brother close…” Lyarra’s voice trailed off as she saw Robb head in the direction of the Godswood. “But I hope so” she finished quickly, “it would be very interesting to see a Southern Knight up close,”

“Better if we got to see them fight,” Arya said with a wicked smile, Lyarra shook her head; Arya may only be ten but she was quick and smart as an alley cat, at that thought the girl ran off towards her rooms. “Goodnight Lyarra!” she shouted through the hallway, leaving Lyarra standing there with an familiar sense of happiness hovering over her chest.

 _It’s because she is so like you_ Lyarra told herself as she headed towards the Godswood. Night had fallen and with it the seclusion of the Godswood brought Lyarra an unsteadiness. For a moment she stood in the darkness, the fires had been put out or somebody had forgotten to light them; Lyarra assumed the former since her Father would never allow this holy place to be mistreated. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness Lyarra felt warm air cross the back of her neck and knew that he was here, waiting for her in the darkness. Robb’s eyes glinted in the moonlight when she found him; the only part of him Lyarra could truly see as she turned. _I should not be here_ she warned herself, but her blood was hot and Robb watched her steadily. _Love does not hurt_ she tried to remind herself as her heart became heavy _love does not ask_ Robb’s forehead leant against her own and she tried to remain still _love is not wanton_ all words she had read from one of her Mother’s books, all words she could not believe.

Lyarra flung her arms around Robb and pressed her lips against his own, his body was hard against hers, cold from the nights chill. He returned her kiss without hesitation and she felt her mind go calm and quiet as it always did when she was entwined with him; her brother. They stayed like that for some time, their bodies pressed close together as though nothing but Ice itself could separate them; but the sound of maids scurrying feet and page boys being yelled at eventually separated them and they stood face to face.

“We should be ashamed of ourselves” Robb said, a note of joy in his voice. Lyarra drew back, wondering why he would say such a thing to her. “But I’m not” he continued, iron in his voice “I will never be ashamed of my love for you. If the Targaryen’s could love this way then why shouldn't we?”

“Because Father would kill us,” Lyarra half joked “we would be whispered about from here to the Red Keep, all the way to Dorne.”

“More likely Mother would kill us,” Robb corrected with a smile, “We should run away” the seriousness in his voice startled Lyarra, “we could go to the free cities” he added, “we could get married, nobody there would know us.”

“And we would know nobody,” Lyarra added quietly, “we would not see Rickon take his first steps, nor Sansa get married; would you really throw all of this” she said, opening her arms to Winterfell “just so you could marry me?”

“I don’t know” Robb whispered, his lips on her forehead. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

Lyarra agreed with him, she did not want to be without Robb; but she would not take his life from him, nor his future. Silence enveloped them some time afterwards and they stood thus: Robb’s chin on Lyarra’s forehead with their hands tightly closed around each other’s. Eventually they parted and Lyarra knelt before the Heart Tree once more. _Go to bed, if we return together the servants may begin to whisper. I have words I must have with the Gods_ Lyarra had told Robb when he had gone to lead her to her rooms. He left without argument, he had no desire to hear what she had to say to the Gods.

“Forgive me for my actions against my family; I know I am not a Targaryen. It is plain enough to see in my face, my movements; but I feel less a Wolf every day. I dream of Dragons, of Wings and blood”

From the entrance to the Gods Wood Catelyn Stark stood, shaking from her daughters words. 


	3. The King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King comes to Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story follows a journey I have not thought through to the end, a very rough draft following a very roughly thrown together character. Read to waste time, procrastinate and avoid other worldly duties.

Three moons passed before Catelyn Stark had built up the courage to talk to Ned about what their daughter had told the Gods; _Truly Cat?_ Eddard had asked with doubt _she is just a child, no doubt she stole something from the kitchens._ Catelyn had stood her ground _Robb had just left the Gods Wood Ned, you need to speak with him. Please, for me; even if I am wrong._ Eddard had agreed but his mind was plagued by the latter part of his daughter’s words: _I feel less of a Wolf every day. I dream of Dragons, of Wings and blood._ The words chilled him and he wished that Catelyn had come to him with this news earlier, the King was due to arrive in two days’ time and he had no wish to have his children at odds with him nor their Mother.

Eddard knew he would find Robb in the Courtyard with his siblings and the Greyjoy lad, playing with wooden swords as they always did. Lyarra was there too, mud under her fingernails and her braid askew. Ned felt a tightening in his chest as he watched Robb gently strike at her, going through poses that were meant for men, not ladies.

“Robb!” Eddard called out, hoping his face expressed the smile he wished to wear. His son looked up cheerfully as his Father waved him over. “Come,” he said when Robb was before him, “I need to speak to you about something important.”

***

Lyarra was sitting with Jon Snow outside the stables when she saw Robb return from her Father’s scholar, pale as a ghost she almost got to her feet; but Jon Snow beat her to it.

“What’s the matter?” Jon asked as Robb turned towards them, Robb’s eyes slid to Lyarra and she felt her heart skip a beat. _Something is terribly wrong_ she thought in fear;

“Father…” Robb cleared his throat, “Father knows” the two words came crashing down upon Lyarra like a hailstorm in the midst of winter. Her throat closed over and her chest became so tight that her breath became laboured.

“What?” Jon asked, confused. “What does he know?” He looked back to Lyarra and frowned, “Lyarra?” She shut her eyes tightly and shook her head before fleeing into the stables.

“Lyarra!” Robb called, his voice breaking with strain, but she did not turn.

Lyarra did not saddle Aemon as she untethered him and let him from his stall, she jumped onto his back with little ease and a lot of strain; but she made it onto the great beast and spurred him forward. The main gates of Winterfell were open during the day for the peasants to come and go so Lyarra did not pause as Aemon galloped from their home.

 _Faster_ she willed her horse _please go faster_ she begged. Lyarra had not felt this hot shame in so long, not since she were a little girl and her Mother had scolded her for taking Arya onto one of her Father’s ponies. But this was different, so very different. She would be banished, fostered in the Eyrie of worse she had no doubt. Her Father would hate her, when he died her name would not be on his tomb; Lyarra would be erased from all of her families lives and Robb _would_ forget her face, if only to erase the pain she had caused him.

When she had been travelling for long enough she let out a wild cry, _why_ the word screamed through the woods _why oh why oh God_ she wept and screamed until her little voice had nothing left. Until her tears had burnt her skin and her hands were numb from holding so tightly onto the reigns of Aemon’s tether.

What seemed like only moments later she heard horses nearby, _they have come for me_ she thought, but it was not her Father; instead it was a handsome man with gold hair a white cloak. Confused Lyarra encouraged Aemon to step backwards.

“Who are you?” Lyarra asked, only then noticing that she wore men’s breeches and a light tunic that belonged to her brother.

“I was wondering the same thing” the man said in a smooth voice Lyarra was not accustom to in the rough men of the North. “But because you are Lady, I will tell you: I am one of the Kings’ Guard. Escorting King Robert Baratheon to Winterfell. And you are?” Strangely Lyarra found no scorn in this man’s voice, no judgement for her attire; he was the first to call her a Lady beside Cook in a long time.

“I am Lyarra Stark, Ser Jaime Lannister I assume; if the whispers are true at least.” Lyarra responded, her current troubles forgotten.

“Ser Eddard’s eldest child, I see you take after your Uncle Brandon.” Jaime Lannister cannot have known Brandon Stark, surely? The mention of his startled Lyarra into silence. “I did not mean to offend you” the Knight added when Lyarra did not reply straight away.

“It is no offence Ser,” Lyarra said quickly. “Would you like me to lead you to Winterfell? It isn’t far.”

If Ser Jaime was amused by her offer he did not show it, instead he accepted her offer with grace and they went back to the path where Lyarra saw the rest of the Kings Guard heading up the highway to Winterfell. _He does not need my help_ Lyarra scolded herself but she was also pleased that he did not mock her for her idiocy. Nor did he take note of her grief.

Back in Winterfell all of Court had rushed to assemble themselves before the King; her Father would be greatly dissatisfied with the guards on lookout Lyarra knew. When they arrived she gave her mount to the stable boy and went to stand beside Robb and Sansa. She did not look at anybody.

“Your Grace,” Lord Eddard said when the herald had announced the King and all his titles. King Robert dismounted his steed and Lyarra had to steady herself at his appearance; fat and old and not at all the man her Father had once described to her over a meal.

“Ned” King Robert said gruffly, opening his arms to his oldest friend. “How long has it been?” He added as he embraced Ned.

“Too long, your Grace” King Robert agreed but requested Eddard called him by his name; not his title _we are friends here, not Lords or Kings._ “Look at you then,” Robert said when he came to Robb “you were no more than a child when I saw you last” Robb smiled and shook the Kings hand. When Robert looked to Lyarra he gave her a wink, “and you, by Gods you’ve grown child.” Lyarra felt an odd pleasure at the King’s words and gave him a shy smile.

As the King moved down the line of Stark children Lyarra felt a heat rising to her cheeks as she remembered the clothes she wore; Sansa stood in a lovely velvet dress, Arya too had been forced into something lady like and all the boys wore their finest attire for the King’s viewing.

By the time Lord Eddard disappeared into the Crypts to pay respect with King Robert Catelyn Stark’s eyes were stuck to her eldest child with an unhidden rage. Lyarra looked back at her with all the shame she wished she could hide but her Mother did not flinch. Strangely enough her Mother did not speak; instead she turned on her heal and escorted the other children inside, Robb did not turn to look at her.

“She will forgive you by dawn” a voice said from behind her, Lyarra turned and looked at Ser Jaime; “Mothers have a soft spot for their eldest children.” His hand rested on his sword and Lyarra wondered if he was thinking of her or the Prince.

“She will not forgive me, Ser.” Lyarra confided, feeling lighter come his every word. “She is not the Queen; I will never be King.” Jaime Lannister laughed at this and Lyarra felt all the rumours said of this man were nothing compared to his actual presence.

“I thought all the Northerners were supposed to be cold,” Jaime replied, “I suppose you have time to grow into your Father’s honourable stature.” If his words were supposed to offend Lyarra did not care; she did not want to be her Father yet would not be ashamed to be as honourable and gallant as he appeared to her;

“Uncle!” A third voice joined the conversation and Lyarra turned on her heel and disappeared before the Prince could mock her clothes or worse. “Who was that?” The boy asked instead, having arrived late.

Lyarra heard no more of their conversation; instead she ran to her rooms and requested a bath. Her Mother arrived not long after. Catelyn Stark had always been a beautiful woman, Lyarra thought. She had high cheeks and beautiful long auburn hair that she had once allowed to cascade around her shoulders elegantly; those days were gone and today it was braided tightly down her back. For a while neither Mother nor daughter spoke out loud; their thoughts too deep and dark to be shared with any other company than the men that they loved. Eventually Catelyn broke, her words came crashing down about the pair.

“Your Father has spoken with Robb and it has been agreed that the pair of you will no longer train in the courtyard. You are almost a woman grown, Lyarra” Catelyn scolded “The Gods known I have been patient with you, my eldest child” she searched Lyarra’s eyes for a brief moment. “I only hope that in the years to come you come to understand _why_ we are doing what we are.”

“To protect the family” Lyarra said without hesitation, although her voice wavered. “Because I am a disgrace, a Stark and not a Targaryen. I” Lyarra stopped. “I understand perfectly Mother; I do not need to be scolded on something that my heart is so deeply affected by.”

At that moment a knock came on the door; _your bath, Lyarra_ it was one of the stewards. Catelyn Stark let the boy in, two others carried the large basin and four followed with water. _It is lady Lyarra,_ Catelyn scolded the boy and he apologized before leaving. Catelyn had no words for her daughter so she too turned her back and shut the door quietly behind her.

“Your heart is so deeply affected by?” Robb’s voice almost scared Lyarra from her skin, so deep in thought she had been. “What does that mean?” His expression was wounded;

“You need to leave, Robb” Lyarra said sternly. “That was not the end of this; Father will likely send me away.” Robb shook his head then and Lyarra paused, hesitating.

“He will send me away, to be fostered as he was fostered in with Jon Arryn and the King himself.” Lyarra shook her head as if to reassure herself. “Lyarra, he has told me as much himself…”

“Nonsense,” Lyarra said breathlessly, “this is… this is your home” Robb did not reply immediately, he had said as much to Father himself.

“As it is yours, he will want to speak with you soon and you much assure him that it was my doing.”

“That what was your doing?” Lyarra asked, a frown creasing her brows. “That what was your doing Robb?”

“This,” Robb said quietly, closing the space between them in a few short strides. “But before that, can you do me a favour?”

“Anything” Lyarra said breathless as Robb too her chin in his hand and angled her face towards him. “ _Anything”_

***

 

There was a feast in Winterfell that night, Lyarra’s handmaiden had braided her hair tightly behind her head and down her back. _Because if it comes out of place you’ll know that you have been up to no good_ the woman had joked when Lyarra complained about how it pulled at her scalp. Once her hair had been done she was helped into a blue gown that her Mother had spent too much coin purchasing. The fabric was so soft to touch that Lyarra was certain it was velvet; she had never been very good at learning her womanly duties: stitches, managing a household and wifely duties. All things she knew she must learn in order to marry the Prince.

“You look beautiful” Eddard had said when he came to her door to fetch her for the feast. “I often forget what you look like beneath the horse hair and dirt you wear most days” he added with the hint of a smile. Lord Eddard had always indulged Lyarra, ever since she was a toddler.

“Thank you Father,” Lyarra had replied, stone in her voice when she spoke.

Lord Eddard did not push the girl, he knew how Lyanna had been at this age _twice as unruly and impossible to get into a gown of this make._ He pushed the thoughts aside, let the ghosts be ghost.

When the pair came close to the Great Hall Eddard took Lyarra down an unfamiliar route; there they met the King himself and his heir. Joffrey wore clothes of gold and black; his Father’s colours. On his hip he wore a sword Lyarra couldn’t help but admire; gems had been placed in the hilt. _He is handsome_ Lyarra told herself, but the Prince wore a bored expression that made her wonder whether or not he thought the same of her.

“Your Grace” Eddard addressed the King and his son as they came near; Lyarra in turn curtseyed low and bowed her head respectfully.

“Ned!” The King boomed in joy, “let’s start then shall we?”

Lyarra joined arms with the Prince and they followed their Father’s into the hall as music began to play. Joffrey’s skin was hot to touch, even through his clothes and Lyarra wondered if he had a fever. When she glanced at the Prince she noticed that his eyes ever wondered to her sister Sansa and her lady Jeyne Poole. _How could I blame him_ Lyarra scolded herself _Sansa is the most beautiful flower in the North, I have heard the men whisper it so._

“I suppose we should dance” Joffrey suggest to Lyarra, his voice was oddly far away as he spoke but Lyarra nodded none the less. _I suppose we should_ , she agreed.


	4. The Wolves Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyarra wakes in a storm, the gate has opened and the wolves are coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story follows a journey I have not thought through to the end, a very rough draft following a very roughly thrown together character. Read to waste time, procrastinate and avoid other worldly duties.

Lyarra woke to the second storm in twice as many weeks. She had been in the stables with Aemon earlier in the day and the sun had been shining ever as it did during the summer. Robb was ever absent from the courtyard and her presence these days as he prepared to go with the King and his son to Kings Landing in two nights time. _It is for the best_ Robb had told her, his forehead resting against her chest; it seemed a lot longer ago than it truly was that he had spoken those words.

A crack of thunder illuminated Lyarra’s chambers; bringing her back from her thoughts. She wearily lifted her feet from beneath the thick layer of furs and swung them over the side of her bed. The stones were cold to her bare feet and she considered remaining in bed. _Not like last time_ she urged herself _don’t let it be like last time_ an image of Valarr’s face flashed into her mind and a surge of determination got her to her feet. 

The mare was likely lost or being fostered at another houses holdings; but Aemon was in Winterfell and Lyarra was not going to let him flee her company as his sister had. _Not with Robb leaving in two days’ time._ Lyarra shook him from her head once against and focused on the shadows the fire lamps cast along the stone walls as she exited her room. Lifting her arm she tried to force the sleep from her eyes by rubbing them vigorously but when she opened them once again all she saw were her blurry feet at a standstill on the grey stone floors.

“Lyarra?” a timid voice came, Lyarra’s blurry eyes found Sansa standing in her chambers doorway, her hands clasped over a pillow she held to her chest. “The storm woke me,” she admitted

“It woke me too” Lyarra said softly, “are you okay?” Sansa smiled ever so slightly but her eyes were wide with fright. Lyarra smiled back and went to continue on but Sansa reached out and grabbed the sleeve of her night shift,

“Where are you going?”

“I need to make sure Aemon is okay” Lyarra replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Are you okay?” she asked again,

“Yes” Sansa shook her head, “I am sorry, I was just…” curiosity wasn't something Sansa had been encouraged to express, Lyarra knew. Lord Eddard had never been able to answer all the questions Lyarra had had as a child, but as she grew older and learnt to read she had kept her curiosities to herself.

“Do you want to come with me?” Lyarra asked, but Sansa shook her head and retreated back into the depths of her bedroom.

Continuing on Lyarra’s pace quickened, the thunder was becoming more and more frequent. _It is getting closer_ she noted; sending a shiver down her spine. Storms had always made Lyarra uncomfortable whereas Robb had once told her that the rains helped him sleep. _It doesn't matter now_ she scolded herself once again _there are more important things to be worrying about than Robb’s sleeping patterns._

The weather reached a strange lull when Lyarra stepped out into the courtyard and padded towards the stables, her feet obtaining a new layer of mud and muck at every step. The rain was coming down very softly, almost being carried away by the winds and the stables stood not twenty meters from Lyarra when she stopped dead in her tracks. The South gate had opened either with the wind or the help of men, and in them stood a great beast; as tall as a pony but with the snarling jaws of a wolf.

As she stood in the mud the rain once again became heavy and thunder rolled in the distance and for a moment Lyarra did not see the wolf; instead she saw a girl in a white night-shift standing wide eyed staring at her with such a fear as she had never seen before. As soon as she blinked she was once again staring at the south gate but it was empty of the strange beast, instead the gates swung ominously in the heavy gale of the storm. Lyarra swallowed her fear as best she could, unsure if she was shaking from the cold or the fear she felt resonating in her soul. The gate was big, too big for her to close on her own but the longer they swung in the wind the more fear she felt coming from the wild North beyond. Running back to the stables she found Aemon whining in his stall.

“Hush now,” Lyarra scolded “Targaryen’s do not fear the weather” she hadn't meant it to slip from her mouth, in fact the words seemed foreign to her mouth; but once they were said she meant them. “You are the Dragon’s spirit Aemon” she reminded him, “and I am the Wolf” she smiled at him, her forehead resting against her own. “And we do not fear this storm.”

By the time Lyarra had put one of the harnesses on Aemon the thunder had become ominously close and when she stepped out into the night lightening illuminated the entirety of her vision. Lyarra pulled Aemon along with her, the ropes attached to the harness hanging over her little shoulders, weighing them down. _We can do this_ she tried to persuade herself, but the closer she came to the gate the more she doubted herself. Aemon’s steps became halting; Lyarra could not blame him. When the pair reached the gates Lyarra attached the ropes to left wing of the gate before it pushed her backwards into the mud. _How am I supposed to do this?_ She asked herself, looking at the right wing with concern. _I should have found Father or Ser Rodrik._ Lyarra looked back to Aemon, wide eyed with fear as another clap of thunder assailed their hearing.

“My Lady!” A yell carried across the wind from a voice that belonged to a boy Lyarra could not see. “My Lady!” there it was again. Lyarra tried to stand but found her legs weak, she got to her knees and made her way to Aemon. “My Lady!” There was panic in the voice now as a steward – the one her Mother had scolded – came running through the storm towards her.

Lyarra let the boy help her to her feet, he couldn't be older than herself, sixteen at most. He had big brown eyes and shaggy sand hair that had been pulled free from its ties by the wind. The squire held onto Lyarra’s arm as he got her to her feet, a serious concern flickering behind his eyes. _Arthur Poole_ Lyarra recalled as she searched for his name, he was Jeyne Poole’s elder brother.

“Whatever are you doing out here my Lady?” Arthur asked, not taking heed of Aemon who was snorting and tossing his head behind the pair.

“Trying to close the gates,” Lyarra replied breathlessly, as she did another clap of thunder enveloped them, this time it was louder.

Arthur stumbled back as Lyarra stepped too close in order to maintain her footing and the steward fell into Aemon’s retreating behind. For a moment Lyarra felt a smile tug at her lips, an apology was forming on her tongue when Aemon’s back leg kicked back into Arthur’s head as he too tried to regain his own balance. Lyarra’s eyes locked with Arthur’s for a moment before he fell into her arms and they fell into the mud.

“Arthur!” Lyarra shouted as the boy’s body slumped against her, pushing her deeper into the muddy floor that seemed to coat Winterfell. “Arthur!” She shouted it again but the boy did not answer.

Struggling Lyarra pulled herself out from under the boys warm body, she pushed him onto his side but when she removed her hand from his back it was coated in a hot red substance. _Oh no_ Lyarra panicked, pushing the boy onto his back so that she could look at his face, his eyes were wide and still. For a moment she did not move, the rain fell down upon the living and the dead without worry for who drew breath and Lyarra wished that she had stayed in bed. Looking up from the boys’ corpse she saw Aemon had stilled. Lyarra was unsure of how long she stayed there, not moving anything but Arthur’s head to rest it on her knees as she sat in the mud. Cautiously she closed his eyes and apologized over and over until her tears had dried and the rains had stopped.

It was Jory Cassel who found the girl sitting in the mud nursing a steward’s head in her lap. He ran from the courtyard as soon as he saw the figure; her hair like fire shining ever so slightly as dawn approached. When Jory reached her Lyarra was pale as a ghost and shaking as though she stood upon the Wall itself. The boy in her lap too was pale, but he did not move.

“Lyarra?” Jory asked, “Lyarra what happened?” Lyarra sniffled and looked up at Jory as though he were a stranger, blood had stained her gown.

“I just wanted to close the gate” Jory took a moment to figure out what the girl had murmured and by the time he had she began to continue: “the boy… Arthur he came out of nowhere, running to help me. I had fallen you see…” her voice trailed off as she looked down into his face and began to cry.

“Leave him,” Jory said reaching down to rake Lyarra’s arm,

“No!” Lyarra growled through her sobs, “I can’t, he can’t be alone” she shook her head and Jory wondered how the gates had been opened in the first place. _It does not matter right now_ he told himself _Lord Eddard will want to know of this, and it is best Lyarra is taken to her rooms to bathe and rest._

So against Lyarra’s will Jory dragged her to her feet and into his arms; she was still quite a little thing and easy enough to carry – even with her weak attempts to push away and go back to the dead boy.

***

Lyarra woke stiff and dazed at about midday, her Father was sitting by her bed with his head turned towards her window. For a long time she did not speak; instead she took in her Father’s features. Lyarra had often heard men comment that her Father had cold eyes and a serious disposition; but she had never known him not to smile at her nor her siblings when they smiled at him, his eyes were often gentle and Lyarra recalled that the day Arya had begun to speak her Father did not stop smiling for an entire day. Perhaps her Father wore a mask outside of his family, but Lyarra did not know, could not know. It looked as though Lord Eddard had recently trimmed him beard, this often hid how much grey had begun to grow there Lyarra noticed; but she would never mention it to him.

“Are you cold?” Lord Eddard asked, not looking over to face her.

“No,” Lyarra replied. “How is Vayne?” Arthur’s Father had been so proud of his son becoming a steward as he was. _The Starks are an honorable family to serve_ she had heard Jeyne Poole laughing about it with Sansa what seemed like an age ago.

“Jory says you had been trying to close the South Gate?” Eddard ignored her question and looked at Lyarra, curious as to why his eldest child had been found in the mud with a dead boy's head resting in her lap. “What happened?”

As Lyarra recounted what happened paused as she recalled the beast standing at the gates; when her Father looked concerned she continued without mentioning it. _I could have been imagining it_ she told herself as she told of Arthur running out to help her and how the weather had spooked Aemon and how the boy had died and she hadn't known what to do with his body.

Eddard listened and watched her face closely, his children had never been able to lie to him and he was happy for it. As Lyarra’s tale came to an end Eddard watched her eyes mist up as she looked at the roof, exhaling.

“A tragedy then,” Eddard said heavily, he stood and walked over to Lyarra’s bedside where he leaned down and hugged her. To his surprise she clung to him with all her might and began to cry; he had not seen her cry since Valarr had disappeared. “Oh Lyarra,” Eddard sighed and rubbed her back as he sat on the edge of the bed holding her. “It is not your fault.”

When she calmed Eddard left Lyarra to sleep once more, the shadows underneath her eyes were enough to convince her Father that she needed more rest before she was ready to face the whispering of the servants. When Eddard exited the room he found Vayne Poole standing in the hallway with a tray of food for his eldest child. The man’s eyes were bloodshot from crying and his hands shook.

“Come,” Eddard said to the man, “I have a tale to tell you.”

***

Lyarra dozed in and out until another steward came to her rooms alongside her Mother and siblings. The steward carried food and her Mother excused him as soon as he set the plate down. Arya jumped onto the bed and Bran helped Rickon up too. Lyarra embraced her siblings by turn until Rickon was sitting on her lap and Sansa and her Mother sat on the edge in a more formal matter.

“Will you tell us what happened?” Arya asked excitedly, taking a grape from her tray of food. For a moment Lyarra considered telling the truth but she knew her Mother would not approve.

“I hardly remember, it was so dark and I was very frightened” Lyarra replied, choosing a version of the truth that was the closest to her story as she could manage. “All I know is that I am happy to be warm and in bed” she added, trying to joke.

“Are you cold?” Catelyn asked, small tell-tales of concern written over her face.

“I am okay,” Lyarra replied, “I do not feel cold” she clarified, taking a hunk of break from the tray to calm her stomach. She looked around her siblings before she realized what was missing: Robb. “Where is Robb?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“He has gone riding with Father” it was Arya who replied “and the Prince and the King and some of the guards” she added, seeming excited to have the answers. Lyarra thanked her and the six of them remained on Lyarra’s bed discussing the storm and other unimportant things until Lyarra began to doze once more.

“Come” she thought she heard her Mother whisper; “we need to let your sister rest, she has been through a terrible thing.”

In her dreams Lyarra saw many things; a raven, a girl in white staring at her in fear and a great beast snarling at her. The three things kept coming to her, the raven flying at her, the girl staring and the wolf snarling. It wasn't until a gentle knock on the door woke her from her sleep that Lyarra was able to shake the images from her mind.

Before she could speak the door slid open and an odd noise entered the room along with her brother Robb. In his arms he held two bundles of fur, one grey and white and the other almost auburn. Robb smiled at her and made his way towards her without announcing what the creatures in his arms were. They whimpered sadly as he came closer and Lyarra lifted herself into a sitting position so that she could better see.

“What –“Lyarra went to speak as Robb revealed the puppies he help. He sat them both on the furs of her bed and Lyarra’s breath caught in her throat. She had never met the dog that birthed these puppies she was certain. “What on Earth” she breathed

“There was a Direwolf” Robb said in excitement, “she was dead with a stag’s antler in her throat.” Lyarra looked up at him curiously; he must have seen it on his ride with Father and the King. “It had eight pups, one for each of the Stark children, and Jon” as he spoke the auburn pup made its way towards Lyarra’s stomach; whilst the other curled up in Robb’s lap. Whimpering all the while.

Robb and Lyarra sat on her bed in silence for a long while, Lyarra holding onto the pup as if it were a newborn babe. It wasn’t until she began to whine once more that Lyarra looked up at Robb with concern

“How am I supposed to feed her?”

“One of the bitches in the kennel lost her litter to the storm last night, another one only has a few pups. I told Father that we would look after them and he agreed.” Robb seemed to half shrug and Lyarra looked down at the pup once more.

“I suppose they would have died out in the wild,” she thought out loud and Robb silently agreed with her.

By nightfall Lyarra was once again out of her rooms but this time she sat in the kennels whilst her newest companion drunk from one of the kennel bitches. Beside her sat Jon Snow who was holding his own pup in his arms attentively, his eyes ever on the creatures face. Lyarra watched him, curious as to what fate the Old Ones had in store for the Stark bastard. Ever since he was a child Jon had been the one to resemble her Father the most; whoever his Mother had been had left little of herself in him. Jon looked up at Lyarra and considered her for a moment before looking back to _Ghost_ his Direwolf, he and Arthur Poole had been fast friends ever since they were boys and his death did not sit well inside Jon’s gut.

“Father says Arthur was struck by Aemon” Jon thought out loud, “he said he went to help you” that part Jon knew would be true, Arthur had been infatuated with Lyarra since she had danced with him at her last name day celebration. But Jon had known Aemon for as long as Lyarra had been raising him; the horse had the gentlest nature he had ever known in such a beast.

“Aemon was spooked by the Storm,” Lyarra replied quietly, “I was too”

“I don’t know if I believe you,” Jon said just as quietly, although his voice took on a different tone.

“I fell into Arthur” Lyarra breathed, “I lost my footing as the thunder came and I fell into him.” The admittance was hard but she knew she should not lie to Jon, Jon who loved Arthur as he loved his half-brothers. “Arthur fell onto Aemon and it spooked him, so he kicked him and Arthur was dead before he hit the ground.”

Said out loud the words stung Lyarra in the deepest parts of her conscience. Arthur had always been kind to her, they had danced at her last name day and laughed together; now he would never dance or laugh again; instead the worms would have him.


	5. Farewells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb Stark prepares to leave Winterfell to be fostered at Kings Landing with Prince Joffrey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story follows a journey I have not thought through to the end, a very rough draft following a very roughly thrown together character. Read to waste time, procrastinate and avoid other worldly duties.
> 
> I have spent some time thinking of Lyarra's future and I think I know which way we are headed now, a friend of mine will soon be writing another character that lives in this universe and I will link them as soon as that is possible. For now, happy procrastination.

Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell did not want to rise. His bed was warm and the air outside his blankets and furs was cold. Aside from that he also did not want to begin the journey to King’s Landing with the King and his son. Nobody from his family would travel with him, nobody but his Father but even he would only go as far as the Trident before returning to the remainder of his family. _My family_ Robb added as an afterthought, _they are my family too._ There was nothing more Robb wanted to do than to take one of his brothers with him. However the thought of his Father’s ward, Theon Greyjoy travelling with him and being fostered in King’s Landing too, eased some of Robb’s worry.

_Theon Greyjoy had come to Winterfell when he was a boy of ten and Robb was five, praying in the Godswood with Lyarra his Mother had hurriedly fetched the twins, Sansa bundled in her arms and escorted them into the Courtyard. Catelyn had excitedly explained that their Father was going to be home early, and with him he brought home the guard and a new guest. When Robb saw Lord Eddard riding towards him he had waved excitedly and called out to his Father, Lyarra had smiled shyly and hid behind her Mother’s skirts. Lord Eddard had looked tired and his eyes bore shadows that he had not left Winterfell with. He jumped down from his horse and embraced his wife and children. When he drew back a boy walked forward with one of the guards, his hair was black and he was much taller than Robb._

_“This is Theon Greyjoy” Eddard had said, no sense of emotion in his voice; “he is going to be my ward.” Robb hadn't entirely understood then, that Theon had been taken from his family or that the look in his eye wasn't fear of the Stark’s, but fear of never returning home. Fear of having his Father give him up rather than fight on for something that his brothers had died for._

Robb was pulled from his thoughts as soon as his feet touched the cool stone floors that covered his bedroom floor. Grey Wind, his Direwolf had kept him up half the night. As soon as he went to sleep he had woken up only to walk down to the kennels to feed the beast. He went into the hallway and had a servant call for a bath before quickly heading down to the kennels to feed Grey Wind. When he arrived he found Jon Snow asleep against one of the walls, one of the bitches curled up to his side whilst Ghost slept in his lap. Not wanting to wake Jon Robb quietly went over to the bitch who had lost her litter, before setting Grey Wind down he gave her a sympathetic pat on the head. It was only then Robb noticed the auburn pup nested against her chest.

“The Mother, she likes having the pups with her” Lyarra’s voice came from behind him and he turned quickly to look upon her. Her hair was mussed and she was wearing her night-shift. Mother would not be pleased if he saw her here like this, like this and near him.

“I hadn't thought of that,” Robb replied, averting his gaze from her face. “I don’t suppose it will matter anyway, Grey Wind won’t need much milk after our journey south.” If Lyarra agreed she didn't say so, instead she knelt in the muck beside him and petted the bitches head.

“I can watch Grey Wind whilst you bathe and dress, nobody has more to do today than you.” Her voice was hushed but Robb supposed it was because Jon Snow slept behind them. Unable to find his words he simply nodded and left his pup in her care.

Robb did not turn as he left, preferring to keep the vision of Lyarra looking down on him with sleepy eyes at the back of his mind with all his other memories of her. When he got back to his rooms the servants had just finished adding the hot water to his bath. After they had left he waited a moment before undressing and stepping into the steaming water. As his bare feet touched the bottom of the bath he felt the heat rush up this thighs until he sat and the warmth consumed him. Robb lay back and stared at the window at the furthermost wall of his rooms; from it he could see nothing but the pale morning sky. By the time Robb had scrubbed his skin clean and removed the sleep from his body he felt ready to face the day; even if it was the day he was to be leaving Winterfell behind.

The courtyard was buzzing with activity as servants rushed here and there adding any final adjustment to the supply train that would follow the King, his son and their escort back to Kings Landing. _And me_ Robb added as he stepped out into the now risen morning sun. His Father was nowhere to be see but the Captain of their household guard, Jory was talking with Robb’s half-brother Jon; as Robb headed towards them somebody called out his name. When he turned he saw Theon Greyjoy waiting for an answer to a question Robb hadn't heard.

“What?” Robb asked when he stood with Theon. The man was leaning against the stables watching the servants run here and there; no doubt watching the serving girls. As if to confirm Robb's judgement a girl with straw hair and emerald eyes turned and gave Theon coy a smile.

“I asked whether or not you were bringing the beast with you” Theon repeated with an amused look.

“Grey Wind?” Robb leaned against the stable wall beside Theon who nodded. “Of course, Father made it clear that we were to care for the beasts ourselves.”

Theon didn't reply after that, he looked at Robb for a long moment as he watched one of the stewards stumble and knock a serving tray from one of the girls. A loud clang ensured and Theon watched a smile curve at the edges of Robb’s lips, as though the sight had amused him. Theon felt the smile tug at him too as he looked upon the scene; that was until Lyarra appeared and he saw from the corner of his eye Robb stiffen. Lyarra had always made Robb uncomfortable, Theon thought. As easy as it was for Robb to hit her with a wooden sword Theon knew the idea of her fighting made him uncomfortable; from that to wearing men’s clothes and kneeling in the muck with the kennel bitches. Theon agreed that it was unnatural, but the two had never spoken openly about it. _She is his sister after all_ Theon thought _he has to love her, he has no choice in his family._

However today Lyarra wore a gown of grey and white, her house colors. Her hair was bound in an elegant braid down her back and Robb wondered if she had painted her lips the way Sansa did sometimes. It seemed more often than not that when the Prince was around his younger sisters lips were colored. _She is tormenting me_ Robb thought as Lyarra helped the steward up and helped collect the now soiled food from the muddy grounds. When she looked up her eyes locked briefly onto Robb’s and a hint of a smile surfaced on her lips. _She is definitely tormenting me_ he decided as Lyarra stood and wiped down the front of her gown before walking off towards the kennels.

“She’s dressed nicely” Theon thought out loud, his eyes flicking back to Robb. “I suppose your Lady Mother had her dress so for the Prince,”

“Yes,” Robb agreed “for the Prince.”

He found her in the kennels nursing Grey Wind as her own pup suckled at one of the bitches’ nipples. Before he had entered the kennels he had seen Bran carrying two pups and headed toward the castle; no doubt looking after Rickon’s as he was too young to do such things alone. Lyarra was sitting on a small wooden stool when he entered, she looked up at him and smiled before offering up the pup.

“Thank you” Robb said as he awkwardly took hold of the squirming Pup. “Why are you dressed like that?” he added, unable to help the words from spilling out.

“Like a girl?” Lyarra wondered out loud, the impression of a frown forming on her brow.

“Yes”

“I suppose I wanted you to remember me in something other than riding clothes and mud.” Lyarra may have been joking, Robb had never been sure where his twin’s jokes began and ended. “I wanted to look like a Lady, because next time we see each other you will be a proper Lord and…” her voice trailed off “it will a long time before you see me again. I wanted you to remember me as I am now.”

“Now?” Robb frowned now, looking directly into her pale eyes. “I will always remember you in riding clothes and mud because _that is who I love._ ” Lyarra looked away from him but Robb continued. _“_ That girl who beat Jon with a wooden sword when she was nine, that is who I will remember you as. I will remember you hiding in the stables, covered in hay when Mother found out you had been hiding the chicken eggs from cook in hope that they would hatch. I will remember you _as you._ As the girl I know, and the sister I grew up with. That is I will remember you.” Robb knelt down with Grey wind in one arm and reached out to grab Lyarra’s chin, in her eyes he saw only sadness where he wished he could once more see laughter. “I will never forget that girl, Lyarra” he clarified “no matter how deeply you hide her, I will find her.”

“You’re a fool” Lyarra pushed his hand away and wiped tears from her eyes. “I will always be that girl.”

“Can you promise me that?” Robb asked as a ghost of a smile appeared on Lyarra’s lips. “Can you promise that when your skin turns to leather and you stoop like Old Nan that you will still be that girl? Even after the fire in your hair is replaced by snow that you will want to hide in the hay and play with wooden swords?”

“I promise” Lyarra said with a choked laugh, “I will never stop being that girl.”

***

By the time the sun had risen high in the sky it was time to leave. Robb had all his belongings in a supply train and Grey Wind was safely nested in his tunic. His Lord Father had given him the second bitch and her litter of two to take with him. _They’re good hunting hounds_ Eddard had said to Robb when they stood in the kennels, the spot where Lyarra had sat had seemed a great empty space to Robb then. _When you go hunting with Robert you can take your own beasts, although I’m not sure how much they will enjoy the South._ Robb had nodded and thanked his Father; their goodbye still seemed a long time away.

Robb headed towards the stables to collect his horse when one of the stable boys hailed him.

“My Lord” the boy said, he appeared a little frightened.

“What is it?” Robb asked, not unkindly; the boy smiled timidly and went on to explain that Robb’s sister Lyarra had already come to saddle his horse and was waiting for him near the South Gate. “The South Gate?” Robb asked confused, but the boy was certain.

Robb quickly headed towards the South Gate after giving Grey Wind the steward, the boy look startled but took the pup nonetheless, eager to please his Lord. Robb was unsure why Lyarra would have taken his horse out of the way. It made sense however, when he arrived and his sister stood grinning in riding clothes that he had grown out of long ago. _She wanted me to see_ her, Robb knew then. He began to run towards her and to his surprise she ran away, out of the South Gate and towards Aemon who was tethered to a tree nearby.

“Lyarra?” Robb asked, wondering why on earth she would have her favorite companion waiting out here; he wore a saddle Lyarra had been gifted on her last name day, an expensive thing she had yet to use. “What are you doing?”

“I thought,” Lyarra began “that if I could not travel South with you, then you should at least take something to remember me by. Robb hesitated a moment before replying.

“I don’t think I can –“

“You get no choice, I let your mare out this morning when you left Grey Wind in the kennels with me. You won’t find her and you can’t take any of the other horses. It wouldn't be right” Robb stood speechless for a long moment before smiling.

“I suppose I must accept then”

“Aye” Lyarra went to Aemon and untethered him, running her free head down his silver mane and burying her head in his neck. “He will keep you safe”

“I don’t think there will be any trouble in Kings Landing for me, sister” Robb replied, looking at Lyarra with a hint of sadness. “As I do not think trouble will come to you in Winterfell”

“Only old Lords with their sons and their pricks looking to align themselves with our house” Robb’s mouth dropped open before Lyarra’s laughter filled the space between them. “And you best be careful of those Southern ladies, I hear they are exceptionally beautiful…” her voice trailed off and she looked at him for a long moment. “But come, it is time for you to leave.”

King Robert watched as the young Lord Robb headed towards the company atop a beautiful silver horse he could not recall seeing the likes off. Yet it was Lyarra Stark dressed in riding clothes with red cheeks sitting behind her brother that Robert noticed. Although he had not seen Lyanna Stark's face in years this girl seemed to bring light the memory of her to his mind, if only briefly. Theon Greyjoy rode his own pale horse to stand beside Robb and he exchanged words and a laugh with Lyarra before she squeezed her brother and slid down from the horse to stand among her family.

The courtyard seemed to have stilled as Lord Eddard embraced his wife and children, kissing the youngest on the forehead as he sat in his Mother’s arms, clinging to her breast. Robb farewelled his siblings too, embracing the girls and his Mother before mussing the boys heads and kissing Rickon on the brow; whatever goodbye he and Lyarra needed to say had already been said outside the South Gate. Mounting back up onto Aemon he spared them all one last glance, hoping his face did not reflect the indecision he felt in his mind. He gazed at their faces for a long moment before turning, hoping that that good would be enough to keep them in his memory whilst he was being fostered in King’s Landing.

As the company began to leave Robb made sure to look closely at all the buildings he had grown up surrounded by, it made no sense that he would forget their appearance but the fear still resonated on his mind. When they reached the road outside of Winterfell Theon Greyjoy once again rode up to be at his side.

“I've always wondered what the Southern girls were like” Theon said, breaking their silence with a smirk.

“I've not” Robb replied honestly, his entire life had been in the North, and even the thought of marrying somebody from the South had never rested easily with him.

“Come on Robb, I’m sure there’s plenty a Southern lady for all of us” Theon laughed, “You’re bound to find one you fancy” Robb laughed too, _we’ll see_ he thought, but he doubted the thought as soon as it came.


	6. Bastards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyarra walks through the night once more, however this time the danger does not cost a life.
> 
> Changed on 31st/3rd because this chapters original contents did not sit comfortably with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read to waste time, procrastinate and avoid other worldly duties.

Lyarra lay in bed considering the moon she had spent in Winterfell without Robb. Nothing had changed it seemed. Although there was a definite lack in stolen kisses and physical touch Lyarra found she should not be ungrateful; her Father had returned some time ago and neither he nor her Mother had brought up the friction between her and Robb. The silk that draped about her bed swayed gently in the warm breeze that floated in from her window. Despite being surrounded by her family Lyarra had a deep sense of loneliness, every few days she went to the nursery and played with Rickon and every day he asked where Robb was. _He is with the King_ Lyarra would reply again and again, but Rickon would cry and beg for his eldest brothers company.

Unable to sleep Lyarra rose from her bed and tugged on her night-shift as it had begun to stick to her in the heat of the night. _What am I going to do?_ Lyarra wondered, nobody in the castle would be awake. She dropped her feet from the edge of her bed and stumbled to her feet, catching herself on one of the bedposts. Her head still spun from the three glasses of wine she had had at dinner. Jory had been teasing her across the table; it had been a celebration for Sansa’s birthday. Thinking back Lyarra had made barely an effort to focus her attentions on the younger Stark sister, but she supposed neither had Arya. It was her Mother who doted on Sansa and she was gifted numerous fine things that Lyarra did not care to recall. Edging towards the window Lyarra reached for the glass that was used to protect her little room from winter when it came and threw the pane backwards. She gasped as the air came through stronger now, pushing her night-shift tight against her little body. Lyarra knew she was not as beautiful as her Mother, when she looked down she saw her growing breasts; they were only big enough to fill her hands but at least they did not get in the way. Leaning from the window Lyarra took a deep breath and reached out into the empty space outside her window _I am drunk_ she told herself, but the thought only made her laugh. Lyarra looked back to her bed at the ever growing and forever nameless Direwolf that slept there, the auburn creature hadn’t lifted its head but its eyes followed her wearily.

“What?” Lyarra whispered to the beast as she shuffled over to the door, “go back to sleep, I will be back soon” she promised with a wink before slipping out of the door as quietly as she could manage.

Tip toeing from her bedroom Lyarra tried to stifle her laughter in the night’s silence. By the time she had made it out of the castle she was headed towards the South Gate. _Always the South Gate_ she decided _Robb will be there waiting with Aemon_ she thought hazily _we will leave this place and_ the thought lost its track as a dull sound of wood hitting something made its way to Lyarra’s ears. The ground was dry but cold beneath her feet as it hadn’t rained in over two weeks. Above the stars shone and Lyarra felt her spirits lift from thoughts of Robb as she saw the cause of the noise: Jon Snow sparring with a hay filled dummy. Lyarra watched for some time, her half-brother’s tunic clung to his chest and outlined the muscle there. _I suppose I would look like that if I were a man_ Lyarra thought as her eyes traced Jon’s body. For a moment the boy stopped and Lyarra wondered whether he had spotted her; a lone figure in white standing in the courtyard staring at him. However after a moment Jon continued. His movements seemed sloppy and Lyarra wondered if he too had drunk too much at the feast. Her Lady Mother had seated him so far away and within the gathered that Lyarra couldn't recall seeing him at all. Strained noises escaped his mouth and Lyarra wondered whether or not he was crying.

“Are you crying?” She asked out loud, taking uneven steps towards him. Jon turned with wide eyes and held his wooden sword up towards her.

“What are you doing here?” Jon asked, his eyes fell to her thin shift and hovered over her breasts before he looked away into the night, refusing to look at her.

“I asked first,” Lyarra said stubbornly, moving closer as Jon did not lower the sword.

“No, I’m not crying” Jon replied with a scowl, but the wetness on his cheeks told Lyarra another story.

“You’re lying” Lyarra moved ever closer until Jon dropped his sword and turned away from her, busying himself with readjusting the dummy. Lyarra moved around him until she stood looking slightly up at him; both he, Theon and Robb were all taller than she. “Why are you crying?” Lyarra added, causing Jon to look up at her angrily.

“You wouldn’t understand” he growled and Lyarra narrowed her eyes at him, she moved to the side and picked up another discarded wooden sword. “What are you doing?”

“Do you remember when we were nine and I almost broke your arm?” Lyarra teased, weighing the sword in her arm. It were true that Jon and Robb had thrice over as much time training with Ser Rodrik yet Lyarra found a keen sense of confidence rising through her.

“You grazed me and I yielded to save you embarrassment” Jon tried to correct her but Lyarra laughed a high laugh that did not belong to his half-sister.

“You cried then too” Lyarra tormented, moving around him like a wolf circling her prey. “You cried and Father had to come and tell you how you did well, then the two of you went and had a talk. When you returned your eyes were dry and you didn’t raise your arm against me again.”

“Because Father told me not to” Jon replied, his voice rising in anger. “Because you’re _supposed_ to be a Lady.”

“I don’t care what I am supposed to be!” Lyarra struck forward but Jon easily knocked her sword aside and moved to the side to prevent him from colliding with her.

“Don’t you?” Jon teased now, his own eyes narrow as he began to understand Lyarra’s behaviour. “You drank too much tonight didn’t you?

“I didn’t see you at the feast, how far away did Mother seat you?” Lyarra smirked at his wounded expression. “It's because you’re a _bastard”_ Jon struck at her this time and Lyarra barely had time to move aside. “Does that make you angry?” Lyarra laughed. “You’re lucky Father took you in at all”

“What is wrong with you?” Jon barked, bringing his sword down with all his strength, it collided with Lyarra’s left shoulder and she was knocked into a post. For a moment Jon hesitated, lowering his sword before Lyarra jumped at him.

“What is wrong with me?” she cried, the tip of her wooden sword running along Jon’s jaw. He lifted his arm to take the rest of the blow and caught her in the rips. “You _are_ lucky, what duty do you have other than perhaps being a Knight or marrying a pretty girl from a lesser house?” Lyarra drew back and stared at Jon, annoyed at him for being so naïve.

“And you are going to be the Queen someday” Jon retorted, dropping his wooden sword and holding his arms out. “Oh how hard your life much be Lyarra, that you will one day rule over this entire country and your children will be rulers after you. Your daughters can pick any husband they want and they will _not be bastards_ ”

Lyarra stared at Jon for a long time _what does he know_ she told herself. _He_ is _lucky to be Father’s bastard, if he didn’t spend so much time pouting and feeling sorry for himself he could have a great life. But what woman would ever want to marry a man who can’t even get it up for a whore._ Robb had told him the story in secrecy, he had gone into town with Theon and they had gotten whores for each of them; Lyarra had been jealous but chosen not to speak of it. Afterwards when Theon and Robb went outside of the establishment Jon had been waiting, refusing to talk about what had happened until they were back in Winterfell. Jon was staring back at Lyarra now, her night shift clung to her, outlining the shape of her small firm breasts and the curve of her stomach. When he looked up at her eyes the familiar sadness had turned to anger and it was directed wholly at him.

“I would rather be a bastard” Lyarra whispered but Jon did not hear her to begin with, after a moment the words rang in his ears like bells and he began to laugh. Offended Lyarra drew herself up – which may have been intimidating if not for her petite height.

“You stupid girl,” Jon scolded, and it was Lyarra’s Mother’s voice that she heard; “you know _nothing_ of this life”

Before he knew it Lyarra’s fist had hit his jaw and he was stumbling backwards, twice again she hit him in the stomach but he managed to grab her wrist and throw her to the ground. _Stupid girl_ he thought again as she got up and knocked him off his feet too. They rolled in the dirt for what seemed like an awfully long time, it wasn’t until Lyarra was pinned beneath him that Jon felt the heat that had rushed to his breeches. Lyarra stared up at him, her hair mussed above her head and with a small cut next to her lip.

“I’m going to let you go and you’re going to go back to bed” Jon told her wearily,

“Are you sure?” Lyarra challenged, she felt the hardness on her thigh and wondered if all her brothers were going to end up so secular. If Jon’s cheeks were flushed she could not tell by the torchlight, she wriggled her wrists but he held onto her tightly, staring down at how close their bodies were.

“It isn’t like –“the moment Jon lifted his face Lyarra kissed him, it wasn’t a deep kiss like the ones she had shared with Robb, it was very different. His lips were hard and unyielding against her own so she did all that her hazy mind could offer her: she bit him. Jon released her lips and Lyarra rolled on top of him, holding tightly to her waist with his thighs.

Whatever Jon thought he wasn’t up to sharing. As Lyarra’s mouth found his she mumbled something close to his ear and a small noise rose from his mouth. Not much later Jon pushed her off him and stood, pulling her up by one of her arms he pushed her against the hay dummy and stared at her, his hand on her throat.

“What is wrong with you?” He asked, exasperated, he could still taste her on his lips; an odd mixture of wine and blood from her cut lip. Lyarra went to move forward but he pushed her back and kissed her.

Her little body pushed against Jon and every time he pushed her back, his hand holding tightly to her neck. _Stop_ he begged her as her hands balled the front of his tunic into fists. Yet the words did not escape his mouth, too busy was it on kissing and sucking its way down her neck. Whilst he was distracted Lyarra managed to tear a hole in his tunic, pulling backwards on it she dropped it on the ground and awkwardly began trying to take his shirt off. Drawing backwards from her Jon made a dissatisfied noise and tugged it off himself, creating tears in several different places. He placed his hand behind Lyarra’s back and drew her upwards to him until she wrapped her legs around his waist and he hefted her up against the hay dummy. Lyarra felt the hardness pressing against her inner thigh now, her cheeks felt hot and a strange feeling had begun in her stomach, like a pressure wanting to be released just below her belly button.

When once again Jon found her lips a small whine escaped her mouth, it seemed however that Jon wanted only silence as one of his hands once again found its place around her fragile white throat. Lyarra reached down and pulled her night shift up to reveal her bare thighs, the heat was no place for small clothes in her opinion. Whether or not this pleased Jon she did not know; although he hefted her up even higher and his mouth lowered onto her cloth covered breast. Despite his hand a moan escaped Lyarra’s mouth and with her right hand she lifted her shift higher so that he could touch her skin. Her other hand pulled roughly against Jon’s unruly black hair. Dropping her shift Lyarra reached down and began to tug at the chord of Jon’s tunic, fumbling she found she could not undo the tie yet before she could speak Jon spun around and lay her roughly upon the dirt ground. Grabbing the ties himself he broke the cord and his manhood was out resting on Lyarra’s soft bare stomach. Jon reached down and felt between her thighs, tracing his finger along them until he found the soft mound of hair and the wet place beneath. He had never been with a woman but had heard Theon brag about the kitchen girls enough to know that she was supposed to be wet there.

“Jon,” Lyarra’s voice sounded odd, a hint of desperation having seeped into her tone.  She wrapped her legs gently around his middle and wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers digging painfully into his hair.

Unsure of himself Jon slipped a finger inside of her and felt the soft wet walls of her womanhood; as he did a loud moan came from Lyarra’s lips, with it came the smell of wine. Intoxicated, Jon removed his finger and entered her. _She is so wet_ Jon thought to himself, wondering if all women felt like this. Drawing himself in and out of his half-sisters body his eyes were drawn to her own, startled by the sight of his sister beneath him he drew away, disgusted with himself. Drawing himself up Jon did his breeches as best he could before grabbing the remains of his shirt and leaving without glancing backwards.

Lyarra however, remained laying in the dirt, her eyes focusing in and out on stars that shone millions of miles away. The place between her thighs aching a way it had not before. When she reached down and touched it she felt an odd sensation as her fingers ran over the little nub that resided there. Lifting her hand up she saw that there was blood on her fingers. Lyarra lay there for what could have been hours or moments before drawing herself up and heading back towards her rooms.

The way back did not seem as easy as her way to the courtyard. Twice she found herself standing at the Godswood but twice she found herself unable to enter. When she finally reached her chambers and slipped inside she found her Direwolf waiting at the door for her. Lyarra knelt down and hugged the beast, already it had begun to grow into its once floppy ears. Lyarra nestled herself into the creature and felt herself begin to weep. _He is not Robb_ the voice that surfaced was surely her own, but it did not sound so. _Robb is far away and he will never return to me here_ Lyarra released a sob and the Direwolf whined, crying with her.

“I’m sorry,” Lyarra whispered as her tears soaked the beasts back. “I won’t leave you anymore.” She promised, and with that she rose to her feet and lifted the Direwolf into her bed where she lay with her. “I won’t leave you anymore” she repeated, running her fingers through its soft coat.

Lyarra had a fitful sleep that night, images of her door plagued her. She scratched to get out but she was unable to, her hands were paws and she could smell something unfamiliar to her in the air. She growled but nobody heard her and by the time the door opened it was too late. The damage had already been done but soft arms promised not to leave again, promised to stay with her from now on and she felt safe, safe enough to lay on a bed of furs but not to sleep. She would not sleep until those arms that made her feel safe were safe once more. Twice she heard footsteps come to the door and twice she watched the shadows retreat, whoever it was smelt like wine and sweat, but they did not knock. When Lyarra woke the dreams were forgotten, but her Direwolf pup’s eyes did not waver from her own. _I will not leave you_ she told the beast wearily as she ran a hand through her fur and this time she meant it.


	7. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read to waste time, procrastinate and avoid other worldly duties.
> 
> Systematic Downfall is co-author as he writes within the same universe as Lyarra's, although from another point of view. If you wish to read something else of similar taste to my work them I recommend reading his 'The Dragons Fangs' as our characters will cross paths numerous times throughout our work.

Winterfell was quite as a boy of ten scaled the rooftops and felt more bird than wolf. Brandon Stark had woken early and slipped away to watch the sun rise without the noise of the servants below. When Bran began to climb down he saw a flash of red hair and knew his Mother would scold him for climbing the rooftops once again. _You had promised_ she would say and Bran would feel guilty until the life down in the castle became too much. However, to Bran’s surprise it wasn’t his Mother who waited for him on the ground; but his sister Lyarra.

“I heard you running down the halls” Lyarra said, and Bran wondered how long it would be before he could look at her straight in the eye. Since Robb had been gone his eldest sister had not grown overly, but the two years had certainly changed her. By her heel Lyarra’s Direwolf sat patiently, the beast was as big as the others if not bigger. _Why haven’t you named her?_ Bran had asked many moons ago, but Lyarra had only shrugged _she is a wild thing, and wild things will name themselves._ Bran hadn’t understood then, instead he had looked back at his own Direwolf, Summer and wondered if she had a different name, a separate name to the one he had given her.

“Did you tell Mother?” Bran asked but he knew she wouldn’t have. Lyarra was good at keeping secrets.

“What do you think?” She laughed, mussing his hair and putting her arm behind his back as Mother often did. The pair headed back towards the castle. “Are you hungry?” Lyarra added, looking down at Bran with her Stark grey eyes and wondering what kind of man her brother would grow into.

“A little” Bran admitted. With that admittance Lyarra led the pair towards the kitchen where she knew they would find Cook. The Direwolf following them obediently. Bran’s Summer was nearby too, but he wasn’t sure where exactly the beast roamed.

The woman as always stood behind her working desk yelling orders at the rest of the kitchen staff, flour had messed her apron and her braid was pulled out at odd angles. _I wonder if she ever stops_ Lyarra thought, a touch of guilt surfacing as she noted that she had never seen the woman’s quarters, never asked after her life. The guilt quickly dissolved as Cook smiled at the pair and gestured for them to sit on the stools at her working station.

“I don’t suppose you were running on the rafters again were you, young Brandon?” Cook asked as she began organizing a plate for the siblings to share. “Don’t look at your sister like that!” she added when Bran turned to Lyarra with a touch of betrayal on his expression. “Your Mother can be heard yelling at you from here to King’s Landing.” Cook justified, winning a guilty smile from Bran. Lyarra smiled to, her eyes distracted by one of the stewards collecting a tray to be taken somewhere within the castle. She got to her feet and headed to the man in time to see a lemon cake sitting among other sweets. _Sansa_ Lyarra knew.

Vayne Poole turned quickly enough to catch Lyarra looking at the tray. The eldest Stark child had grown into a beautiful woman in the two years since his son, Arthur, had died. His wife had since given him another son but he found the hole left by his eldest child could not be filled. Vayne had barely spoken to Lyarra her entire life, often preferring to confer with her Lord Father or Lady Mother when something involving the child was brought up. _Although she does not seem a child anymore_ Vayne noted as he looked at the light dusting of freckles over Lyarra’s nose and the way her chest rose with her breathing. Vayne had not known Lyarra’s Lady Mother as a girl, but if she had shared her daughters looks Lord Eddard had been a lucky man. _He still is_ Vayne decided, Catelyn Stark was still a comely woman.

“Mother says that Sansa’s teeth will suffer as she ages if she keeps eating all these cakes” Lyarra said to the man, she did not hesitated as she once did. All the fear had left Lyarra Stark it seemed. Vayne smiled at the girl, unsure what to do.

“I would not want that” Vayne said, setting the tray down once more as he began to remove the cakes.

“Wait –“Lyarra touched his arm and Vayne recoiled away as a shiver ran through him. “Sansa loves lemon cakes, at least leave her that…”  Before Vayne could apologize the girl was retreating back to her brother Brandon and Cook, who smiled enthusiastically as the girl sat and began to eat.

After the two Stark children had eaten and had their fill of Cook’s ramblings they excused themselves and headed back towards the castle. Lyarra did not put her arm behind Bran this time, instead her mind wandered deeply into the last two years and the things that had come to pass. Her sixteenth name day had been over shadowed with the fact that for the first time in fifteen years, Robb had not been there. Catelyn had done her utmost to appease her daughter’s sadness and for the most part it had worked; Lyarra danced with noble boys whose eyes wander more often to her breast than her eyes but she did not notice, her mind was far away. Lyarra had even found that she missed Theon and his sly gaze running over the women who would attend with their Lord Fathers and brothers.

Lyarra’s Uncle Benjen had been the only one to draw her attention fully when they danced and spoke. His hands were soft and his eyes did not wander, he spoke softly and sympathetically. Lyarra often missed her Uncle these days, so far away at the Wall and not like to visit any time soon. He had asked Lord Eddard, his brother for more men for the Night’s Watch, and Eddard had done all he could to help. _What is happening at the Wall, Uncle?_ Lyarra had asked, excited to have something new to talk about other than possible matches for Sansa or the letters from Dorne her Lord Father and Lady Mother had been receiving. Benjen looked at Lyarra for what seemed an age until he answered _nothing that should worry you mind, Lyarra_ his answer had not surprised her, she was used to people being careful with their words around her. _The North is in my blood_ Lyarra had replied, not sure what else to say. Benjen had finished their dance and kissed her forehead _I do not doubt it_ his voice was soft with an emotion Lyarra did not recognize but was soon forgotten as another young Lord came and asked for her to dance.

Bran’s voice pulled Lyarra back from her thoughts of things long passed and she looked down at him fondly, his hair was getting long again and no doubt her Mother would want it cut soon.

“Pardon?” Lyarra asked,

“Are you going to the village with the other girls today?” _The other girls_ Lyarra mused. There was a small festival to celebrate the extended summer in the village just outside of Winterfell and Catelyn Stark had permitted Sansa along with one of her ladies to go and have a look at the goings on.

“I would like to” Lyarra replied vaguely before farewelling her little brother and heading towards the stables. After Robb had gone to Kings Landing she had gone back to the stables and petted the nose of his mare, he had never named her and Lyarra was glad he had bought her lie about releasing the beast. She was an older horse and Lyarra wasn’t sure she would survive winter when it finally graced Westeros with its presence.

The horses in the stable were quiet today, even with Lyarra’s great Direwolf nearby; most having already been watered and fed by the stable boys. A lot of the men themselves had gone into the village to see the festivities and Lyarra didn’t expect them back too soon. _Whores to be had_ she thought to herself lazily, she had not ever minded the girls who sold their bodies so that they too may live a life worth living; she had even met one of Theon’s girls when she was sneaking from the castle a long time ago. The woman had had beautiful orange hair and bright eyes, when she had seen Lyarra she had frozen and taken in the sight of the girl standing in her doorway with her hair mussed and a frown plastered on her face. _Are you a whore?_ Lyarra had whispered, and the girl had turned paled _I don’t mind_ Lyarra had added quickly, a shy smile on her face. _You’re very pretty_ the girl hadn’t answered and Lyarra had withdrawn into her bedroom, the shy smile still on her face she had said goodnight and shut the door quietly.

The sound of girls laughing in the courtyard brought Lyarra back from her thoughts and she listened as Sansa and Jeyne discussed the flowers they would purchase along with sweets and maybe even fabrics if there were any, to make new gowns. Sansa had always had a talent for making things, ever the lady yet Lyarra hoped that she would be remembered for more than the mask she showed the outside world. If she thought back long enough Lyarra could recall running after Sansa when she was a toddler, so quick to run she had once been. When Sansa had been born Lyarra had held her at every chance she had, her Mother once told her that she had even slept in the nursery with her, but Lyarra had only been three and she could not remember such things. Now, however Sansa was a beautiful woman, ready to marry. Where Lyarra’s hair tumbled down her shoulders messily, Sansa’s was always pressed down and reflecting sunlight, her cheeks always a pretty shade of pink, her lips always coloured. The two years since Robb’s departure had seen Sansa grow from a pretty eleven year old into a beautiful young Lady whereas Lyarra could not see the changes in much else than her breasts and hips, she had grown into a shape her Mother told her would be good for bearing children. _Just what I want_ Lyarra had thought angrily at the time, little Rickon sitting on her lap as she stitched a hole in one of her dresses.

“Sister!” Sansa called, her voice full of excitement at the promise of being allowed to wander, if only for a day. “Are you coming to the festival today?” Sansa’s eyes were filled with excitement and within them Lyarra wished she did not see Robb. Beside Sansa her own Direwolf, Lady sat patiently.

“Of course,” Lyarra replied, subconsciously smoothing out the skirts of the gown she wore and resting a gently hand on her Direwolf’s head. “Who else would keep you out of trouble” Sansa smiled and waited for the stable boys to bring out their horses. Sansa was more accustom to riding in the cart but Lyarra wanted them to be able to leave the town as soon as they need to and horses were quicker.

When the stable boys came to help Jeyne and Sansa onto their horses Lyarra shooed Sansa’s away with a gentle look and by standing in his way. The boy hesitated before Lyarra nodded at Sansa to use her for support to mount the horse that had been selected for her. Sansa looked at Lyarra for an extended moment before stepping into her hand and clumsily jumping up on the creature. Lyarra couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped her and Sansa looked back at her with humorous annoyance.

“I do not ride as much as you, sister” Sansa said as she adjusted herself to sit side saddle. Lyarra smiled and put one foot into the stirrup of her own mare and jumping up into the saddle with a familiar ease. Sansa’s eyes widened as Lyarra sat like a man, riding breeches evident beneath her gown. She winked at Sansa’s expression and the two laughed. Jeyne Poole however looked in a stunned expression at the eldest Stark child.

“I promise I can ride like a lady Jeyne” Lyarra said across at the girl, Jeyne’s eyes lifted from Lyarra’s position to her face and her own face flushed red.

“I’m sorry my Lady, I have seen you ride before.”

The small guard Lord Eddard had organize to escort the ladies to the festival arrived soon enough the trio headed in towards town at an easy pace to suit the younger ladies. As they travelled Lyarra took in the scent of the summer flowers and for not the first time this week wished the Robb was here to share the beauty of the North with her. Instead Lyarra tried to enjoy the company of Sansa and her best friend Jeyne. Jeyne was a comely girl too and Lyarra had no doubt that once Sansa had established a family she would find a husband for her lady within the same household.

Lyarra wondered what it would be like to have a companion she loved enough to want to take into her family once she became a Princess. The thought of becoming a Princess alone seemed lonely enough; she recalled dancing with Joffrey and how he had spoken gently to her as though she were a child and she wondered if he would be a good King at all. King Robert was a strong King, and although Lyarra’s Lord Father did not discuss such things with her she felt that a King needed more than strength to rule. Setting these thoughts aside as she always did Lyarra focused on the day she was in now. _I am free today_ she told herself _the North surround me and I am free, there is no purpose in dwelling on the future._ Although the future seemed to be awfully close by Lyarra’s count. She would celebrate her seventeenth name day in Kings Landing in just under four moons time, after that she would soon marry Joffrey and then her Father would return with Robb to Winterfell. Arya and Sansa may stay in Kings Landing to further marriage alliances, although something about the letters from Dorne made Lyarra think that one may not be staying with her for long.

The Village was bustling with noise when the ladies and their guard arrived and Lyarra felt an unfamiliar sense of excitement growing in the pit of her stomach. Men and women alike chatted happily with one another, some bartering over wares or food and others laughing at their children as they placed one game or another. The excitement showed on Sansa and Jeyne’s faces too as their eyes widened at the wonder of it all. Winterfell did not lack its own festivities but from a young age it had become relevant that their Lady Mother worried too deeply to let them wander the nearby villages without her or their Father.

“What do you want to do first my Lady?” it was Jory’s familiar voice that made Lyarra turn, she hadn’t noticed him in their company the entire journey.

“Jory?” Lyarra asked curiously, “have you been here the entire time?”

“No my Lady” Jory replied with a smile, he was on the ground so Lyarra scolded herself for being so stupid. He reached his hand out and offered it to her. “Your Lady Mother wanted me to be here with the rest of them to keep an eye on you.” It did not escape her notice that Jory only mentioned her and not her sister and her lady. Lyarra accepted his hand and let some of the men take her reigns.

“I would like to look around” Jory nodded and lifted her to the ground easily, she was not a heavy woman.

The pair walked for some time before Lyarra was ready to commit to one of the activities. Twice she paused to watch the children running and playing and Jory noticed the smiles that she gave them when the children looked towards her shyly. One boy even came up to her, so small he was that Lyarra knelt in the dirt to be level with him. _Do not worry_ she had told Jory _this gown is not precious to me._ Then Jory had watched her talk quietly with the boy and listen to him talk about his Father who had recently become ill and how his older brother had come to Winterfell to ask for aid, Lord Eddard had offered that aid and the brother had returned talking of the pretty daughters their Lord had sired and how one had ridden a horse like a man. _Which one are you?_ The little boy asked _the pretty girl or the man?_ Lyarra had laughed _I am the man_ she had said softly _well, I am a Lady in truth but on that day I was riding like a man_ the little boy had smiled and run off to tell his friends that he had met a real Lady and Lyarra had stood once more.

“Where to next?” Jory asked after Lyarra had been standing stationary for some time, the girl looked back at him with a curious look on her face.

“I have heard talk of a fortune teller” She replied, her eyes returning to a daggy patchwork tent that sat beneath a crop of trees.

“Nothing but purse snatchers and liars” Jory said, an angry tone creeping into his voice. Lyarra looked back at him for a moment, her expression blank.

“Nevertheless” her voice was soft when she spoke “the coins I have are mine and I will see this so called fortune teller, whether they be a purse snatcher or not” Jory looked as though he was going to protest but thought better of it. There were worse things he could be letting her do.

“Very well, I will wait here for you.”

Lyarra felt the excitement rise in her once again as she brushed the tent flap aside and stood in the small room. It smelt oddly of lavender and smoke and the only content was a small table and some cushions. Whether it be a scam or not she did not mind, she had seen such a tent a long time ago when she was but a girl, but her Mother had forbade her to partake in such ‘nonsense.’ On the cushion closest to the far wall of the tent sat a cloaked woman, her face looking down into her lap where her hands intertwined.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the woman’s voice was husky, as though she had a cold. Lyarra didn’t respond, she supposed the woman said this to most her customers. “You should have come to be when you were here last, when your Mother forbade you. I could have saved you a lot of trouble you know” the woman looked up and Lyarra was not only startled by her words but her appearance. _She is beautiful_ Lyarra thought, taken aback. Her hair was long beneath the hood and the lightest of blondes; although her eyes were what startled her most; one black and one frosted over by blindness. “Sit child.” Lyarra did as she was bid and found herself resting her hands on the worn oak table. “Give me your hands” she obediently followed the woman’s instructions. When the woman took Lyarra’s hands Lyarra found that they were soft, unlike most commoners whose hands were worn from fieldwork or a certain trade. “Ask me your questions child” Lyarra hesitated before she felt the woman squeeze her hands encouragingly.

“Is my brother well?” The words spilled from her mouth, “will I be a good Queen? Will my Father be proud? Will I ever be happy?” her mind buzzed with a million questions until one stood out among the many.

“And?” the woman asked, as though she could read her thoughts.

“Why do I dream of such dark things?” Lyarra’s voice was no more than a whisper but the woman nodded thoughtfully anyway.

“Your brother is well, he is strong and healthy. You will not be a good Queen, nor will your Father be proud. Your happiness may cost you your life.” The woman hesitated but Lyarra, although frightened listened intently. “The darkness seeks you out because it is already within you, child.” Lyarra frowned _within me?_ “There will come a time when you come to this land again but with you, you will bring only death. Your return will cause rivers to run red and families to be torn apart.”

“I don’t understand,” Lyarra whispered, but the woman only shook her head and the woman released her hands. When Lyarra offered gold the woman flinched as though it was tainted. _I do not want you gold, child. I only want you to leave and never return to this land._ Wounded Lyarra left, her mind abuzz with dark thoughts. When Jory saw her leaving the tent he went towards her only to have the girl walk straight by him, as though she had not seen him at all.   



	8. South

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kings Landing approaches and with it comes the Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read to waste time, procrastinate and avoid other worldly duties.

_The ground was wet beneath her feet and with each step it became deeper._ This is not water _she thought to herself, fear creeping into the edges of her mind as she looked down at her pale feet. As she lifted her left foot to see what she stood in a thick red substance slid from her legs and back into the wetness._ Blood _she breathed but the words would not leave her mouth. The fear held her now, hard in its hands as it had each and every time the darkness had entered her dreams but something was different, husky words echoed through the seemingly endless black that surrounded her._ The darkness seeks you out because it is already within you, you will not be a good Queen, nor will your Father be proud. _Her Father floated before her now, his eyes sad black holes within his head, hollow. Lyarra shrunk back, afraid of what words may come from his mouth but he did not speak. Blood poured from his hollow eyes and Lyarra cried out, truly afraid now._ Your happiness may cost you your life _the voice echoed through the blackness once again and with it the blood beneath Lyarra’s feet began to rise with increasing speed until it began to drown her._

She sat up with a cry, gasping for air and took in her surroundings before she realized that it had only been a dream. Beside her Sansa sat too, wide eyed and curious as to what had happened.

“I am sorry,” Lyarra mumbled, her throat dry.

“It’s the dreams, isn’t it?” Sansa asked softly, consoling her older sister. “What happens in them?” But Lyarra was silent on the subject as she had been for their entire time on the road to Kings Landing. “Lya” Sansa tried again, reaching across to rest her soft hand on Lyarra’s shoulder. “You can talk to me about it” but she only shook her head and pretended to sleep once more.

In the morning the train of carts and horsemen continued their way to Kings Landing. _It is only a day or so now_ Lord Eddard had told his daughters at dinner the evening before as they ate at an Inn for the first night in two weeks. Lyarra had been oddly tired this trip, but Eddard put it down to anxiety at marrying the Prince and her upcoming name day. _Aren’t you excited to see your brother?_ Eddard had asked Lyarra when he found her sitting outside with her Direwolf shifting by her side. He wondered how Robb’s Grey Wind fared in the capital, as he could hardly imagine the Queen let the beast roam the Red Keep. Lyarra had smiled at her Father but it had not reached her eyes.

“Are you well?” Eddard asked, “Sansa says that you have been have night terrors” Lyarra’s eyes flicked to her Father then, suddenly alert. “You can tell me about them. Although she wouldn’t want me telling you this, you Mother often suffered them after you were born.”

Lyarra thought of her Mother then, the rift between them had begun to timidly heal after Robb had left. First with Catelyn accepting Lyarra’s offers to accompany her to the Sept and then again when Lyarra withdrew her interest in playing with wooden swords or otherwise. The thing that brought them closest, Lyarra thought; was when Jon Snow had gone to the Night’s Watch. After the incident between the two Lyarra had avoided him at all costs and he did her the courtesy of doing the same. On Lyarra’s sixteenth name day, when her Uncle Benjen had come Jon had decided that he should join the Nights Watch. Nobody had truly objected bar Arya, sweet wild Arya who loved Jon as well as a trueborn brother. Lyarra had stood in the courtyard for a time as Jon readied his horse to leave with his Uncle but when their eyes met she found she had no words for her bastard half-brother, instead she turned and walked away.

“What did she dream of?” Lyarra asked her Father as he waited patiently for her response.

“She never told me,” Eddard replied hesitantly. “They stopped shortly after the War was over and we went home to Winterfell.” Lyarra shrugged but said no more. If her Mother feared anything it was not something she had made known to her children either.

Lord Eddard observed his daughter as she knelt down in the dust and muck to sit beside her Direwolf. The beast was too big for the South, three of them was worse. He wondered how King Robert would react to having four of the beasts in the capital but put his mind to rest when he saw how gentle this particular beast was with Lyarra, the wolfs eyes looked at Eddard and he wondered if it knew his thoughts, the dark pools made it seem so.

Lyarra rode Robb’s mare now with her Direwolf padding beside her. The trees had begun to thin out and she could see the city of Kings Landing approaching in the distance. The weight in her stomach that had begun in Winterfell now felt like lead and she wanted nothing more than to turn and run from this future. _You agreed_ Lyarra scolded herself _you are no longer a child who can run from such things. Many would happily take her place_ but no matter how she thought of it she still felt the led in her stomach. As if noticing her discomfort her Direwolf whined by her side, causing Robb’s mare to flick her ears back in fright. Lyarra soothed the pair, comforted by her wolfs sympathy.

The smell was the first thing Lyarra noticed as she left the poorer outskirt of the city and entered the main walls. People had gathered and stared at them as they rode and she was certain that they stared at Sansa who rode inside a carriage, a proper lady. _She should be Queen_ Lyarra knew _she is the perfect one, she is the one who wants this_ but Robert had agreed with Eddard that it would be Lyarra, the eldest child who married his son. The people who watched were more oft then not tired looking, dirty – the closer they got to the castle the more richer the people appeared. Some seemed to have donned fine clothes just to have a view of their soon to be Princess; their eyes fearfully trailing the Direwolves that followed the train eagerly. This did not comfort Lyarra. Nor did the Gold Cloaks who soon joined the train, escorting them to the castle as if it weren’t in plain view. Lyarra searched their faces but none were familiar. In truth it had surprised her when her Father had not requested she don a gown for their entrance into Kings Landing but she was also very grateful. Riding in the stuffy carriage with her sisters and their ladies did not appeal to Lyarra in the slightest. She supposed she must have ladies now too, having only had servants in the Castle at Winterfell. The trio of Stark girls were also accompanied by Septa Mordane, who served as their tutor but favoured Sansa’s easy mannerisms to Arya and Lyarra. Lyarra did not believe the woman thought ill of them, indeed she had always loved them well. Yet she could not blame the woman for having a favourite when she more oft then not had skipped their classes for more adventurous things, often with Arya trailing behind.

When they arrived at the Red Keep Lyarra dismounted and handed the reigns to one of the comely southern stable boys before walking towards the carriage that carried her sisters, she was closely followed by her Direwolf. The two younger Stark girls got out of the carriage and stretched, Septa Mordane eyeing Lyarra’s riding gear with ill hidden disdain. Lyarra shrugged it off and went in search of her Father, instead she found Robb. He stood wearing Stark colours, their emblem on his shoulder and his sword on his hip, Grey Wind too sat beside his master, his tale still and tense as he eyed his sisters. _His hair has grown_ Lyarra noted as she watched Robb searching the crowd, his blue eyes seemed brighter than she remembered. _He has grown._ His shoulders seemed broader and no doubt beneath his fine tunic he had a well-muscled torso. Indeed his arms showed obvious strength from all the training Lyarra couldn’t wait to hear about. His face had the beginnings of a fine beard, trimmed back and a little uneven.

When his eyes finally found hers Lyarra heard herself gasp and had no doubt her sisters and the Septa had too. The girls soon saw him and Arya was first to run over and embrace him. Lyarra found she was rooted to the pavement, her lips dry and her stomach swimming with fear and excitement. Sansa went to him as well and Robb embraced her tightly, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh, Arya was listening to him talk as though she hadn’t seen him in a decade. _Aye it feels that way_ Lyarra mused as she watched Lady and Nymeria sniff Grey Wind excitedly. Lyarra looked down at her own Direwolf but she had made no noise since she had plonked herself on the pavement beside her.

“Aren’t you going to greet your brother?” Her Father’s voice startled Lyarra and he gave her a concerned look.

“Of course” Lyarra replied shakily, returning her gaze to Robb only to see that he was almost upon them.

“Father! Lyarra!” He exclaimed, even his voice had changed. It was deeper now, stronger and certain of itself. After Robb had shaken his Father’s hand and embraced him he looked to Lyarra, eyes shining with excitement that she hoped he saw reflected in her teary eyes. “You’ve grown” he said, sounding a little breathless, her eyes sliding to the four Direwolves whose noses were touching, their tales twitching. The odd growl made the nearby guards eye the beasts distrustfully.

“As have you” Lyarra replied warmly before embracing him. He felt like an entirely new person as she wrapped her arms around him and felt his body press against hers. “I have missed you” she breathed into his ear and she felt his body shiver within her embrace.

“And I you” he said, pulling back with his hands on her shoulders. “You’ve grown” he repeated, apparently at a loss for words as he looked at her face, his hands hard on her shoulders.

The Stark children were escorted to their rooms by a gold cloak and their Father rushed off to see the King and his oldest friend. Robb had promised to take the Direwolves to a place that the King had set aside for Grey Wind when the Queen began to complain about the beast. Although she did not want to part with Robb so quickly she was eager to change and freshen up and so she left him, albeit reluctantly. When she entered her chambers she found a comely maid with straw hair waiting beside a bath, hesitating she walked towards the woman, her eyes flicking back to the servants who had just placed her chest of clothes at the foot of the bed and closed the door.

“My Lady” the woman said, inclining her head as she curtseyed. Lyarra nodded at her, unsure whether to curtsy in her current attire. The woman did not seem to mind when she did not. “Would you like to bathe my Lady?” the woman added, gesturing to the bath as though Lyarra had not noticed it. _Do they think us fools, these southerners?_ She wondered curiously.

“I would” Lyarra accepted and began to undo the strings of her boots. The maid came and helped with the rest. When she stood nude Lyarra quickly went to the bath and ascended into the hot water. Stifling the moan of pain as she felt how hot it was. The maid said nothing.

As Lyarra sat in the bath she began to relax and ended her long legs, they ached from the journey and she was thankful that the staff of the Red Keep had saw fit to offer such kindness to her and hopefully her sisters. Whilst Lyarra relaxed the maid began to brush knots from her long auburn hair, the notion was kind but Lyarra found herself becoming gradually uncomfortable as the woman’s hands roamed down her arms, scrubbing and rubbing scented oils into her skin. When it was over Lyarra stood and the woman dried her with a soft towel, from her hair to her toes. _Well I cannot say they aren’t thorough in the South_ Lyarra thought with a smile. After being dried the woman helped Lyarra with silk small clothes and an all too tight corset that made it hard to breath.

“Which one my Lady?” the woman then ask, gesturing to three gowns that had been laid out across the great four poster bed Lyarra was to sleep in. Lyarra looked at the gowns and felt her chest tighten. Never had she seen such beautiful gowns in Winterfell, two of blue and one of what Lyarra could only describe as the sunset. She moved closer to inspect the gown, purely drawn to the gentle yellows and reds that seemed to fade as they approached the bottom of the skirts. The maid took this as a choice and began dressing Lyarra.

Leaving her rooms to roam the castle and hopefully find her family Lyarra was approached by a familiar man in a white cloak. _Ser Jaime_ she inclined her head and wondered how the Knight had not seemed to age at all in the space between their meetings. Ser Jaime bowed to Lyarra and quickly took in the sight of her; the gown she wore was exquisite and she suddenly looked very different from the distraught girl he had met on the road to Winterfell two years passed. Her auburn hair seemed to glow copper beneath the light of the window she stood before.

 “My Lady Stark” Jaime greeted her formerly and she extended a hand for him to kiss with a look of mirth on her face.

“Ser Jaime” Lyarra smiled as his lips touched her hand, sending a bolt of electricity up her arm. _He is so handsome_ she breathed inwardly as his bright green eyes looked up into her own. “How are you?” the words tumbled foolishly out of her mouth before Lyarra could catch them. Embarrassed she withdrew her gaze and instead studied the view from the window she stood before.

“I am well, thank you my Lady. How was the journey South?” Jaime’s voice held no intrigue towards the question he had posed but Lyarra was thankful for it nonetheless.

“It was long, thank you Ser.” She risked looking back at him once more to see that his attentions had been drawn to the hallway floor.

“Come, the Queen would like to meet you” Jaime replied quickly, his eyes lifting to the way ahead of them.

_The Queen_ Lyarra felt a shiver run down her spine when she thought of Cersei Lannister, Jaime’s twin sister and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The walk to the Queens chambers was not overly long yet Lyarra felt her legs tire after some time due to fatigue. When Ser Jaime opened the Queen’s chamber doors Lyarra stepped in slowly and found herself admiring the fine paintings on the wall, one for each of the royal children and a fourth for a place Lyarra had never seen. She moved closer to the painting and frowned up at it. The picture depicted a great fortress atop a colossal rock. Before it stretched a beautiful sea that seemed to be swallowing the sun as it set. As she stared at the painting Lyarra supposed that this must be Casterly Rock, the place the Queen had been born alongside her brother Jaime. _What an odd place_ Lyarra decided as she turned from the painting only to notice a woman dressed in a blood red gown. The woman had golden hair that was braided elegantly down her back, her eyes shone bright green and empty whilst her lips were the colour of pink roses. _The Queen_ Lyarra assumed and so she curtseyed low and deep until the Queen addressed her.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing” the Queen’s voice was warm and inviting and as Lyarra rose she saw the woman wore a smile that did not reach her eyes.

“Thank you, your Grace” Lyarra replied cautiously, hoping that the fear she felt did not reflect on her face.

“You do not look like your brother” the Queen added, the smile never faltering.

“Whilst you share Ser Jaime’s look” again, the words tumbled from Lyarra’s mouth before she could catch them. She felt a heat rise over her cheeks but before the apology that had formed in her throat could be heard the Queen released a musical laugh. Lyarra stared in wonder at the Queen, she was incredibly beautiful, that much was undeniable but something about the steel in the Queen’s gaze unsettled her to no end.


	9. Thoughts and Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day from the eyes of Robb Stark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read to waste time, procrastinate and avoid other worldly duties.

The sunrise enveloped Kings Landing much the same as it had since summer had come, the only different being that the southerners now whispered of great wolves that roamed the Red Keep and a girl with copper in her hair that was going to be Queen one day. The brother of this girl had been in Kings Landing for over two years now and many a Southern Lady had tried to catch his attention but no matter their beauty of lack thereof the brother only had kind words and far away smiles. Another boy who had once lived by the sea had also come to court, a boy by the name of Theon Greyjoy. _Hardy a boy_ he had often said to the women he tumbled into his bed chambers. The boys were now men and their bond closer than ever since enduring the odd place they now resided.

Inside the Red Keep two young men sparred with tourney swords, sweat beaded their foreheads as they tried to unarm the other. One was fair of head and the other dark, although when the sun caught it appeared almost red. Prince Joffrey was the imagine of his Uncle, Robb had come to realize shortly after arriving in Kings Landing to be fostered away from his family. The Prince was not totally unlike the boys Robb had known in Winterfell but with an evil that lurked behind his bright green eyes. Not long after Robb had arrived in Kings Landing had this become relevant when Joffrey beat a squire for standing on the back of his cloak. Robb had stood awfully still as he watched the Prince beat the squire with the pommel of his sword. The boy had begged and cried until his face was bloody and three of his front teeth were missing and all the Prince said to Robb was _come, I should show you the statue they have erected in my Father’s gardens in his honour._ Theon too had been mortified and the pair had stayed up half the night trying to figure out what to do about it. _Nothing_ Robb had decided eventually _he is the Prince, all we can do is hope that he doesn’t see fit to take his anger out on us_ Theon had scoffed _I would like to see him try._

Despite his faults Joffrey was good with a blade, Robb knew this from the collection of bruises that never seemed to vanish. The Prince had been taught by the finest since he was able to hold a sword and it showed in his movements, quick and calculated. Robb however, felt that he too was up to the Prince’s standard, having beat him in the early days. Joffrey had hated that, his face had gone red and he would make them continue on until Robb had a new bruise or ten. It hadn’t bothered Robb overly, being beaten by Joffrey with a sword was better than having the Prince try and knock his teeth out. He had heard tales of the Prince of a boy cutting the stomach of a pregnant cat open to see the kittens and it made Robb’s blood turn to ice at the thought. Despite often being busy in the capital Robb found plenty of time between sparring and wandering the city to miss his sister Lyarra. Her face often haunted his dreams and woke him with starts during the night, yet she was never there. The biggest comfort was that she would be with him at least once before she married the Prince, and the longer Robb knew and influenced Joffrey the more hope he had that the Prince would make a good husband.

“Hah!” Joffrey shouted when his blade caught Robb on the wrist and sent him stumbling back a few steps. The Prince took his advantage and shoved the blade into Robb’s leather tunic.

“I yield!” Robb called from the dirt and he joined in with Joffrey’s laughter, oh how the Prince loved to win. Joffrey then did something he wouldn’t have done two years ago, he reached down and offered his hand to Robb who in turn took it and was pulled to his feet. “Well struck” Robb said with a smirk and the Prince chuckled for a moment longer.

“Thank you” he yawned and covered his mouth with his elbow. “Mother has asked me to have breakfast with her this morning, I don’t suppose you want to spare me her company alone and join me?” The plain distaste in the Prince’s voice didn’t surprise him. It had become very obvious after a short time in King’s Landing that Joffrey longed for his Fathers approval, not his Mothers.

“I’m afraid not” Robb replied, “I must see that my sisters have all managed to keep out of trouble” before he had finished talking the Prince had waved him off and begun striding away. A common thing, Robb knew. Joffrey hardly cared what Robb had to say unless it was praise for him or stories Eddard had shared with him that Robert had not told his own son from the war.

Robb quickly headed back to his own chambers and washed his face with cool water left in a bowl from the previous night. _It shall do_ he told himself, no doubt he would only get dirtier later in the day, there was no time for bathing now. Robb’s excitement grew as he headed to his Father’s rooms and found Jon Arryn sitting with his Father smiling and discussing things he could not hear. Jon Arryn was a good man, Robb thought. He often told tales of his Father as a boy that made Robb smile when he wanted nothing more than to jump on his horse and return to Winterfell. Jon was old now though, Robb could see it in the way he walked, his slowed words and sometimes even his breathing was shallow. _He is not long left for this world_ Theon had said upon meeting the Lord of the Vale, but Robb had ignored him and shook the man’s hand happily.

“Robb!” Jon called now, his voice barely carrying across the space between them. Robb beamed at his Father and Jon before crossing the room to be with them. “I am sorry for stealing your Father from you” Jon added with a wink. “The Kings Hand doesn’t get a lot of time to himself I am afraid” the last words were tinted with sadness and Robb saw his Father’s eyes flick to Jon’s face momentarily before returning to Robb. “Nevertheless! It has been good catching up with you Ned,” Jon smiled and Eddard and patted Robb on the shoulder affectionately before leaving the room.

“What were you talking about?” Robb asked his Father, eager to hear if his Father would accept the offer he knew Jon had given him.

“Nothing that cannot be discussed later in the day,” Eddard replied softly and before Robb could protest Septa Mordane was announced along with his three sisters. Arya beamed positively at her brother as she ran from behind her Septa despite the woman’s annoyed protest. Robb embraced Arya and took note of the grey and white gown he had no doubt she had been forced into. _She will be a comely woman_ Robb knew, where his other sisters were openly beautiful Arya had more Stark in her than the lot of the Stark children. _Except perhaps Jon_ Robb thought mournfully as he remembered that Jon Snow had left for the Nights Watch.

“Good morning Father,” Lyarra said, stepping past Arya and Robb to take a piece of fruit from the platter their Lord Father and Jon Arryn must have been eating. “Robb” Lyarra added warmly with an affectionate smile. “How did you both sleep?”

The conversation flowed over the Stark family as the servants brought trays carrying various foods in for them to eat, along with the food came sweet fruit drinks and water. Robb watched as Lyarra listened attentively when her sisters spoke, her eyes never lingering on his as they once did. _Has she forgotten me_ Robb wondered, she had been in the capital for just over a week now and had barely spent any time with him. Wounded as he was Robb understood, his sister was a beautiful woman grown now, destined to be a Queen no less. Whatever affection she had had for him she must have buried to protect herself. As Robb thought these thoughts somebody knocked his thigh with his leg but when he looked up to see who it was he found that his family was still conversing about Arya having a new _dancing_ master. Returning to his food Robb had just begun chewing on some bacon when he felt it again – although this time the culprits foot brushed down to Robb’s own.

“What do you think, Robb?” Lyarra asked from his left, Robb looked at her curiously, not having heard. Lyarra smiled prettily and laughed when he had no answer. “About Arya’s new dancing master, that is” she added to reboot his memory.

“Oh” Robb said, feeling heat rising to his cheeks as Lyarra’s leg once again brushed his thigh. His sister showed no inclination of her actions as she waited patiently for his answer. “I think it is good,” Robb replied, turning to see Arya’s beaming face. “It cannot do her any harm.” Robb’s eyes then caught site of Sansa’s disdainful gaze before Lyarra’s laughter filled the room. Even Sansa felt herself smiling at the musical sound.

“It will give her bruises but yes, in the long run it never hurt a woman to be able to protect herself.” Robb smiled at her and listened to her resume chatter about more lady like things with Sansa.

By the time the meal was over and Sansa and Arya headed off to the place where the Direwolves were kept Lord Eddard too found he needed to excuse himself so to speak to the King. After he was gone Robb turned his eyes on Lyarra and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” she asked, a knowing smile on her face. “Wasn’t breakfast to your taste brother?” she rose her own eyebrows now and Robb smiled at her fondly.

“I wasn’t sure that you had missed me” Robb said gently as Lyanna stood and went to their Father’s windows. Robb followed her and let his hand rest gently on her own.

She wore a blue gown today that fell off her shoulders in an oddly elegant manner. Robb decided he quiet liked the way it showed off the top of her breasts. Lyarra turned to him then, as his eyes wandered downwards and when Robb looked back he saw that her cheeks had turned a pretty shade of pink. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and cup those cheeks and kiss her face all over.

“I have missed you” Lyarra clarified as she turned her hand over to wrap her fingers between his own. She bit down on her bottom lip momentarily, watching how the two hands held one another before looking back into his beautiful blue eyes. “I have ached for you” she added breathlessly and Robb felt heat rushing towards his breeches. “I have lain awake thinking of you for so long, brother” Lyarra rested her forehead on his shoulder and Robb wished that she hadn’t.

“Lyarra” Robb pushed, taking his left hand and lifting her chin so that she once again looked into his eyes. “I’ve been without you for two years, don’t starve me the image of your face when soon we must separate again.” His words stung her, he saw that by the wounded look in her eyes. _Her beautiful eyes_ Robb thought inwardly.

“You’re cruel to say that to me,” Lyarra’s voice was no longer soft, and she pushed his hand from her face before turning away. “As though you believe I could have forgotten that I am to be stranded her alone.”

“I have been here –“

“It is not the same!” Lyarra cried turning on him, suddenly angry. “You have had Theon here with you, and although he may not be your brothers or your sisters, Father or Mother, he is still your _friend_ and you care for him.” She took a steadying breath. “You always knew you were going to go _home_ Robb. I’m never going back to Winterfell.” Lyarra shook her head, tears threatening to fall. “You will never understand.”

Robb watched as his sister fled their Fathers chambers, her skirts dragging along the floors carelessly. His chest felt tight from her words as he tried to understand why she had blown up at him as she had. _I will not see her for a very long time_ Robb thought sadly _she should not be so quick to ruin these moments._ He looked down at his hand that still sat on the windowsill and thought that perhaps it would have been better if Lyarra had not been promised to the Prince after all.

He found her in what had been humourlessly dubbed the Wolves Garden by Theon when Robert had told Robb that his Direwolf must not roam the castle whilst he studied be it with a pen, book or sword. Lyarra knelt on the grass with the four great Direwolves laying in the sun around her. In her lap rested her own Direwolf, the one that she still had not found a name for. Its great rust coloured head resting heavily on her skirts as the beast dozed and Lyarra stroked its head. _It is a sight that I had thought I would never see_ Robb admitted. Being with Grey Wind in King’s Landing was odd in itself, often the noble ladies would comment on how the beast frightened them. Robb found these women to be the worse kinds for his company.  

Lyarra didn’t look up for a long time whilst Robb watched her, he could see that her cheeks were stained with tears but he had no words of comfort for her as the words she had spoken were true. Robb couldn’t understand how she felt because of what he was born with between his legs. He forgave her words and wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her shoulders and promise that he would not leave her here. _But that would be foolish, this castle has more ears than all of the North_ Robb knew, and it would cause her more grief than good. Instead Robb stood in the entrance to the Courtyard and prayed to all the Gods, old and new, that Joffrey would be a good King and Lyarra a kind and generous Queen. _And wife_ Robb reminded himself, but he pushed that notion aside as soon as it came to light.

“Forgive me, Lyarra” Robb called, his voice causing the Direwolf in his sisters lap to raise her head and put her ears back in anger. “I did not mean to anger you – nor your nameless beast”

“Beast” Lyarra scoffed, “Ula is not a beast” Robb watched as Lyarra covered her mouth and shook her head.

“Ula?” Robb asked, intrigued

“It is nothing,”

“Her name?” Robb guessed, moving closer Grey Wind rose to his feet and came to stand at Robb’s side. Robb rested his hand on Grey Wind’s back and felt him quiver at the touch. “What does Ula mean?”

“I don’t know,” Lyarra said, but she was lying, Robb could tell but he did not press her. Instead he watched the beast now known as _Ula_ and wondered where the name had come from. Ula had turned to Lyarra as soon as she had said the name and their eyes had stayed on each other curiously until somebody else entered the courtyard. “Theon!” Lyarra cried out in joy, more so at being released from the tense conversation than at actually seeing the Greyjoy heir. Theon seemed just as surprised as Lyarra rose to her feet and went to embrace him.

“My Lady” Theon said awkwardly as he looked over Lyarra’s head to Robb. Robb shrugged and Theon released Lyarra from his own embrace. “My, haven’t we grown” he said with a wink, causing Lyarra to blush. “What the fuck is with the wolves though?” Theon complained as he pursed his lips at the four great Direwolves now all looking to see what had drawn Lyarra’s attention.

Robb and Lyarra laughed together for a moment until she excused herself and Robb was left alone with Theon. Theon who whored more than he trained and had been made to swear oaths not to go too far towards the docks. _As if I would have made it if I had wanted to_ Theon had half complained one night whilst he sat up drinking with Robb. _And what would I have done then? I may have the sea in my blood but I haven’t been on a ship since I was a child._ Robb had felt pity for his friend then as he had truly looked crestfallen. _When I am Lord, you can leave_ the words had tumbled from Robb’s mouth unhindered by hesitation and when Theon looked at Robb with an odd expression plastered on his sad face he had nodded. _However, you will always be welcome at my table._


	10. Lyarra

With her name day fast approaching Lyarra wondered if the smell of Kings Landing would ever become normal for her. _It smells of piss and shit_ she had heard one of the Northern guards complain to another when she walked the halls. Her laughter had caused them to look up and she had excused their apologizes with a simple nod. _Truly_ she had said _it does smell of piss and shit_ and the guards had watched open mouth as their Lady walked by without a care in the world. By her side Ula padded happily, thankful to be out of the courtyard that she was restricted to throughout most days. _I am sorry_ Lyarra had said to the creature after mentioning her name to Robb _I was not sure what to do_ but the wolfs eyes had simply looked up at her unblinking and the pair had continued on as always.

If truth be told Lyarra herself was not entirely sure where the name had come from, she had been asleep on her first night at Kings Landing and had dreamt of a sea of blood carrying her and her sisters along it. Inside the ship there were black shadows that grabbed at her in private places and left wet sore marks on her face, her neck and her arms. Lyarra could not fight back and she did not know why, her body simply would not allow her to. When the men stopped she had pulled a golden chain from ones neck and hit him with it before taking an unseen dagger and destroying the shadows with it. Afterwards she had taken her sisters hands and jumped into the sea of blood. _Swim_ she had cried to them as the shore came into their vision _swim and we live_ she had told herself, but a great weight pushed down on her back and her lungs filled with the blood that surrounded her. As she began to descend she felt a soft hand pull her up, but it was not a hand at all. Sharp teeth held her hand until she wrapped her arms around her Direwolf and swam to shore. When she had woken the word _Ula_ had been on the tip of her tongue, as though she had been shouting it. _I am going mad_ she told herself when she used the word ever so gently to call her Direwolf to her, when the creature had come Lyarra had felt herself become faint and she had sat with Ula until she felt level once more.

“My Lady!” A now familiar voice called, causing Lyarra to spin on her heal and curtsey to the Prince, Joffrey. The Prince took her hand and kissed it gently. “How are you this morning?” he asked, trying his hardest to ignore Ula, who now stood very still at Lyarra’s side.

“I am well my Prince,” Lyarra said with a smile, before she could add anything else the Prince, as he always did, continued on.

“Would you like to come and watch me beat your brother at sparring?” he rose an eyebrow and Lyarra laughed gently with him.

“Nothing would please me more,” she lied as Joffrey took her arm and they made their way to the training yard.

When they arrived Robb was already sparring with another boy of simular age. Lyarra watched unashamed of the excitement that rose in her belly at the sound of swordplay, even if it were with nothing but blunted tourney swords. Joffrey, encouraged by this let go of her arm gently and got his own tourney sword.

“Move aside” he said in annoyance at the squire who played with Robb and the boy was quick to oblige. Robb hid whatever emotions he was feeling and bowed to the Prince for a moment.

“My Prince” Robb said in greeting, a smile plastered on his face. “I believe you’ve stolen from me my easiest win of the day” he teased in good humour, Joffrey laughed, enjoying the mocking of the squire before he replied.

“My Lady Lyarra has come to watch me best you,” he said, puffing his chest out with arrogance. Lyarra smiled in good humour, she had heard things of the Prince but he was yet to show her these ugly traits people whispered of.

For some time it did not appear that either the Prince or Robb had an upper hand as they slashed and parried back and forth. Lyarra was distracted by the look of determination of her brother’s face and wondered if Robb was trying to hold himself so well because of her presence. His auburn hair hung unbound on his shoulders whilst the Prince’s had recently been cut to his ears. _Such handsome men_ she thought quietly as Robb caused the Prince to stumble backwards from a heavy blow. Lyarra moved into the shadow of the castle to stop the morning sun from burning her delicate Northern skin, as she did she heard the Prince cry out in frustration as Robb knocked his sword from his grip.

“Again,” Joffrey said, this time his face was red with frustration and embarrassment and he did not look to Lyarra. Robb nodded and waited for the Prince to take up his sword, when he did Joffrey came at him with full force, hacking and slashing unceremoniously and without thought. Lyarra felt herself tense as she watched Robb’s expression change from humour to annoyance at the Prince. “Not so strong now are we Stark” Joffrey teased as Robb stepped backwards to avoid another blow.

Robb said nothing, instead he tried to keep his ground whilst warding off Joffrey’s blows. It went on like this for what seemed an age to Lyarra, she felt her hands clench and hid them in her skirts, gripping the fabric tightly. Joffrey finally landed a blow on Robb’s right shoulder and Robb dropped his blade as the blow ran down his arm.

“I yield” Robb said breathlessly as the Prince drew back to strike again. Joffrey smiled and turned his back on him, swinging his sword confidently in his hand.

“My Lady!” Joffrey called with a smile, as he did two Kings Guard knights came walking into the courtyard. They said hushed words with the Prince and his smile vanished. He turned briefly to look at Lyarra before leaving without a goodbye.

Lyarra waited until the Prince was gone before she went to Robb, he did not meet her eyes as she pulled his sleeve up to assess the damage that had been done. Already an angry red welt had begun to show, Lyarra rested her hand on it gently and looked up to see Robb watching her curiously.

“Does this happen often?” Lyarra asked when she removed her hand and took a step back, wiping the front of her gown down to try and collect herself.

“It’s all a part of training” Robb replied brushing her off and pulling his sleeve back down he rolled his shoulders and tried to contain the grimace of pain it brought him.

“Okay,” Lyarra bowed her head and went to leave but Robb caught her arm and frowned at her,

“Where are you going?” Lyarra tried to think of an answer but Robb pressed on with a smile, “Why don’t you try and best me sister?” the idea had struck him suddenly and Lyarra felt the old excitement return to her stomach. “Come now,” Robb said, picking up the Prince’s discarded sword and handing it to his sister.

“I do not think I can best you brother,” Lyarra said, holding the sword loosely in her right hand she felt the thrill of danger and disobedience run through her entire body. _I should leave_ the little voice in her head warned. _You are supposed to be a Princess in waiting._

However as Robb rushed at her Lyarra forgot the caution, the fear and lifted her sword to defend herself. The sound of the tourney swords colliding made Lyarra cry out in excitement. Robb laughed _I have missed that noise_ he thought to himself, nothing had excited his sister as much as the danger of mock battle. So as he struck at her again and again he was gentle, allowing herself to guard herself with increasing familiarity.

“I haven’t fought with a blade since you left” Lyarra admitted when Robb caused her to sidestep a blade. “I haven’t even touched the wooden swords in the training yard.” It was a lie, Lyarra knew. _But Jon Snow is gone and the things that happened do not need to be mentioned, not here, not to Robb._ Lyarra struck Robb quickly, surprising him and catching him gently on the left shoulder. Robb looked at her with a smirk

“You’re not too bad” he commented as he brushed her sword aside with his blunted tourney blade.

***

Lyarra soaked her now tired body in the hot bath her maid had organized for her, ignoring the woman’s tuts as she found new bruises caused by the recent swordplay with Robb. Lyarra studied the woman as she ran scented oils down her arms. Dyane, the woman had eventually introduced herself to Lyarra when it became apparent that the girl wasn’t going to ask. It became relevant quite quickly that the woman belonged to Queen Cersei. Her Father had hinted as much and Lyarra in truth, after meeting the Queen was not surprised. Cersei Lannister was a beautiful woman, perhaps the most beautiful Lyarra had ever encountered but she was not entirely sure. The woman had a steel to her eyes that were very disarming, as though they knew or _would_ know all the things that you had done wrong. Lyarra found it was quite like standing before her Mother after being found trying to hatch chicken eggs. Very unsettling and a little embarrassing.

“How did you get these bruises?” Dyane asked as Lyarra stood and began to dry herself, she looked at the woman for a long moment before either spoke.

“I was careless,” Lyarra’s reply hadn’t surprised the maid, she had heard numerous lies from the Stark girl since she had arrived in Kings Landing but it didn’t bother her. The Queen wouldn’t care either, she always found the truth whether it was willing or not.

As Lyarra dressed into a gown of blue and grey she asked the woman to leave her. As Dyane begrudgingly closed the door and left Lyarra to her thoughts the girl found herself drawn to the window. Below one of the gardens appeared empty of the castle dwellers. Lyarra smirked at her assessment _castle dwellers_ the thought amused her. Ever since she had arrived at court she had encountered various nobles whose names meant very little to her. Sansa however, seemed to know them all. Lyarra’s younger sister was a lady born and bred, her Mother’s favourite or so it had seemed as Lyarra had come to notice such things.

Sansa was doing well in Kings Landing, Jeyne Poole walked with her everywhere they went and Lyarra believed that if she were to trail along on one of her sisters’ adventures she would find nothing but courteous words and giggles aimed at handsome knights. _My sister was made for this world_ Lyarra thought mournfully, her thoughts drifting to Arya brought a smile back to her face. _My she-wolf of a sister._ Arya came to the dinner table with more bruises than Lyarra ever got sparring with the boys in Winterfell. _Syrio says every hurt is a lesson and every lesson makes you better_ Lyarra liked the dancing master more and more each day, whilst Sansa’s distaste for her sisters activities only seemed to grow.

As Lyarra thought of her sisters her eyes trailed a lone figure in the gardens, hooded as they were Lyarra sensed a familiarity that she could not place. Then the figure looked up and Lyarra found herself staring at two odd eyes, one black and the other frosted over with blindness.


	11. Celebrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The name day of Lyarra Stark and her brother Robb Stark has finally arrived, and with it brings news that apparently all but one already knew.

The throne room was elegantly decorated for Lyarra and Robb’s seventeenth name day celebration. When Lyarra had asked her Father, red cheeked and awkward why the King would go through such an effort her Father had told her it was nothing and that _the King loves to celebrate._ These words did not comfort her. She had been in Kings Landing for almost a moon now and whilst Lyarra could not been lost in the castle for almost five days she still felt very, very far from home.

She had attended one of Arya’s dancing lessons soon after the man intended to teach her had arrived in the Red Keep. A slight bald man with a pointed nose by the name of Syrio Forel had greeted them oddly. _I was not told I would train one, not two today_ he had said when Lyarra stood before him, she had gone to shake her head and explain but the man had disappeared for a long moment before reappearing with another wooden sword.

“You hold it well” Syrio had said as Lyarra positioned herself with the wooden blade. “Not like you, boy” Syrio had looked across at Arya whose cheeks had flushed red.

“Boy?” Lyarra had frowned at the man. “Arya is a girl” if this man was mistreating his sister she would know, and she would tell their Father.

“Boy, girl what does it matter?” Syrio had replied queerly “you are a sword.”

Lyarra had frowned then, confused as to why this odd little man was calling her a sword, yet she had had fun that day nonetheless, and her maid had stared disdainfully at her new crop of bruises that evening. After that Lyarra had made regular attendance which seemed to agitate Sansa to no end, but it seemed to please Arya which made Lyarra happy. When the day arrived for their name day she sat on the edge of her bed in her small clothes and stared at the tall glass mirror across from her for a long time. _I am a woman_ she had known this for as long as she had felt the stirrings in her pit of her stomach whenever Robb would touch her. However she hadn’t bled until five days after her last name day, unlike Sansa who bled when she was nearer to a child. _Arya will be like me_ Lyarra told herself, hoping that her youngest sister wouldn’t have to endure the monthly pains that came with being a woman too soon.

By midday Lyarra had had numerous maids come and see to her, whether it be scrubbing her skin, her hair or deciding what she should wear that evening. It was all a bit extravagant. During her only break from the tedious attentions of the women the Queen no doubt had instructed to prepare Lyarra for the nights activates she found herself in the garden where the wolves normally stayed whilst their companions were doing one task or another for their King, Queen, Father or in Robb’s case, the Prince. To Lyarra’s surprise she found only Ula laying, head resting in paws beneath a sculpture of a dragon. Lyarra had to walk sometime around the gardens before she found the beast there, sulking in the afternoon sunshine. The dragon sculpture, at closer inspection was in fact a fountain and from its mouth spouted a clear stream of water.

“Hello my love” Lyarra said gently, leaning down to kneel on the grass with Ula. The wolf looked up and let Lyarra rub behind her ears. “This is our home now” she added, albeit mournfully. Ula whined and rested her big head on Lyarra’s lap, her eyes looking at the fountain that stood just before them and not for the first time, Lyarra wished she could understand what her companion meant.

As she sat with Ula’s head in her hands she recalled the people she had begun to meet at court, those she had enjoyed kissing her hands and those who had startled her, by no fault of their own of course. Lyarra remembered Tyrion Lannister with his mop of gold and black hair and mismatched eyes more than the rest. Tyrion Lannister, with his jutting forehead and eyes of green and black had been just as pleasant as the likes of Renly Baratheon. However, where Renly was handsome Tyrion was just _odd_ , Lyarra had heard stories of the man with dwarfism – they called him the Imp, or so Lyanna was told _because he likes the company of women, but not a wife._ Lyarra found she couldn’t blame him for such a thing, having met women of various shapes, sizes and statures in Court she found them all to have one quality that matched the rest: they were are prudes, women who projected their sexuality on to potential partners but would not so much as offer a chaste kiss in return for those same partners attention. But Lyarra understood, her Mother had told her what happened in the bedroom and Jon Snow had demonstrated it in a way she had not known before. _They expect me to bleed on my marriage bed, otherwise any children I may have might not belong to the Prince_ Lyarra scoffed at this thought, she hadn’t bled until long after her flower had been taken and she would get blood on the sheets one way or another. She had heard that some women _tear_ down there and the thought made her shudder, but she hadn’t bled an awfully lot when Jon took her, so she would only need a little bit of evidence.

Tyrion Lannister was not his siblings, their looks could outshine the Gods, or at least Lyarra’s as she always pictured her Gods in the odd faces of the weir wood trees. Then there came Renly Baratheon, of who some said was a picture of what King Robert once was but Lyarra found it hard to imagine the charismatic, handsome and charming younger Baratheon sibling to his older brother who favoured his beer belly and beard to the clean shaven and trim look Renly wore. Lyarra had also found his squire, Ser Loras drew the attention of nearly every court Lady, and this of course included Sansa. _He would be a good match, surely_ Sansa had said breathlessly to Lyarra after she had met the Lord and his Knight yet Lyarra had not had time to reply before Sansa continued on gushing about the man.

Lyarra had not mentioned the rumours being whispered about Renly and his beautiful friend. _Of course there are rumours_ she had thought at the time _there are rumours of all close companions, including the Queen and her brother. But to speak of them would be treason and nonsense. Joffrey is as hot headed as his Father once was; at least that is what Father says._ Joffrey had been ever courteous towards Lyarra since losing his temper whilst sparring with Robb. It had come to the extent that for the past three days Lyarra had come back to her chambers to find flowers, a necklace and lastly a gown she expected the maids would force her into tonight. It was a beautiful gown, Baratheon gold and black yet Lyarra wasn’t certain that it would be proper to wear it to her own name day celebration...

“My Lady,” a voice came, drawing Lyarra from her thoughts to look upon Tyrion Lannister. The man stood to Lyarra’s belly but she decided it best to stay on the grass with Ula, least the beast become protective. “I am sorry to have disturbed you. I simply wanted to see the beast”

“Beast?” Lyarra laughed gently despite her shyness. “ _Ula_ is her name, this one at least.” As if on cue the wolf looked up at her mistress and sniffed her mouth. “She may not be Lady but her manners are quite well preserved.”

“A Direwolf with manners” Tyrion noted, looking amused. “I must admit that I am surprised.”

“Surprised my Lord?” Lyarra asked, looking up for a moment from Ula’s long face.

“I had never thought to see such a creature so far from the North, or at all.” Lyarra smiled at his words and nodded. _I would have said that once too_ she thought dreamily, recalling when Robb had come to her bedroom holding the creature gently in his arms along with her little mate Grey Wind.

“You can touch her if you would like” She went to stand but once she did so Ula followed and Tyrion was dwarfed by the beasts’ size. “Oh” Although Tyrion was already a few paces away Lyarra watched him retreat a few extra steps as a precaution. “We did not mean – Ula that is, she doesn’t bite”

“I find that hard to believe” Tyrion said with a chuckle. “Thank you my Lady, but I think I will give it a miss.”

***

Joffrey looked incredibly handsome in his Baratheon colours and the Lannister Lion inlaid on one of his sleeves seemed to be wrought of gold. _How rich are these people?_ Lyarra thought, pursing her lips as she looked down at the cream gown she had favoured for the evening. Although her maids had been vehemently against the decision Lyarra had won them over once she wore the elegant piece. _Isn’t the back just wonderful?_ Lyarra had asked them when they had been silent in awe as she spun; for in the back of the dress were a simple circular cut out covered only by a sheer skin toned piece of fabric. Up the centre of the gown ran little cream buttons that held the piece in place and Lyarra had never felt more beautiful than when she looked upon her face in her tall glass mirror. _I look the part_ she thought breathlessly as she took in her auburn hair that her maids had spent well over an hour organizing into collective ringlets that organized themselves into a bun at the top of her head. By her ears she had a loop on either side that danced along her jaw line before disappearing into the back of her bun.

“Shall we enter?” Joffrey asked as he held his arm out for Lyarra to take. Not trusting herself to speak she nodded and took his arm gently, a timid smile on her face. _Please let this be over soon_ she wished, recalling how many tables had been set to seat the lords and ladies attending Court.

It was more than she could have imagined as she walked in; Lyarra’s eyes widened in awe as she took in the throne room. Flowers decorated every table, coloured glass lamps set the ambiance of the entire room in different shades as the flames danced inside them, everybody wore their finest clothing but none of this compared to the four Direwolves sitting before the Iron Throne with coloured silks wound around their necks as if to create a collar. Lyarra lifted a hand to cover her smile, guard her laughter and stop herself from crying all at once. _My family_ she thought sadly as she saw Sansa and Arya standing beside Nymeria and Lady. Turning around Lyarra saw Robb walking with young Myrcella Baratheon behind them, and in his face she saw her own feelings reflected _we are the same_ the words she had said a thousand times before echoed through her awestruck mind and made her feel dizzy.

The Prince kissed Lyarra’s hand and left her after they had all said their hellos to those of importance. Afterwards Robb came to stand beside his sisters, each defining a different type of beauty. Arya, dark haired and wearing a gown of Stark and Tully colours combined looked more the Lady than Robb had ever known her to be _my wild sister_ he thought fondly as he kissed her hand. Sansa, all their Mother’s beauty and courtesy with the wild North buried there in her smile _my courteous sister_ he laughed out loud and enjoyed seeing her join him as he kissed her hand. _And Lyarra_ he sighed, he raised an eyebrow at her and she spun, showing off beautiful detailing on the back of her gown that exposed her almost naked back _my heart_ he kissed her hand and cheeks before wishing her a happy name day.

“And you, my love” Lyarra replied as the closest lamp danced shades blue across the front of her gown. “Isn’t it beautiful?” She added as she noticed Robb watching the reflection on her skirts. The lamp had an open blue glass cover over the top and Lyarra wondered how it had been made before turning to Ula rubbing her hand across the creatures forehead. “I am surprised that they allowed the wolves in here” Lyanna thought out loud

“Father did it” Arya said excitedly, her hand forever resting in Nymeria’s thick furred neck. “I only wish Mother were here with Bran and Rickon to see it.”

“Six Direwolves are better than four” Lord Eddard agreed as he walked over to his children looking happier than Lyarra could recall seeing him in the time they had spent away from Winterfell. She embraced her Father and kissed his cheek before thanking him for his gift. “This isn’t my only gift” Eddard admitted, but he refused to tell her what the other may be. “You will find out soon enough” he promised.

He wasn’t lying, Lyarra soon discovered. After she was seated beside the Prince at a place of honour just below the King and Queen, Robert lifted his glass and called out for attention. Lyarra watched as everybody seemed to cull their conversation to listen to their King and wondered if Joffrey would one day command that power, but to his credit the Prince kept his attention on Lyarra, studying her face curiously as she looked up at the King.

King Robert began his speech by thanking everybody for their attendance and winking down at Lyarra causing her to blush, but his voice truly began to rise as he spoke of his hand, Jon Arryn. This confused most people _weren’t they here to celebrate the Stark twins name days?_ But as he went on Lyarra noticed that Jon Arryn wasn’t in attendance, and instead his wife Lady Lysa, Lyarra’s aunt on her Mother’s side sat pale faced and emotionless beside Eddard.

Lyarra found that her Aunt, Lady Lysa hadn’t been overly excited to meet her or her siblings. She had hugged her and said how much she had grown but Lyarra could not recall the woman at all from her childhood. As Lysa continued to greet the Stark children Lyarra noticed how her eyes hardened when they saw Sansa, beautiful Sansa and she wondered how anybody could look coldly upon her kind, warm hearted younger sister. Sitting beside her Father now, Lady Lysa was still as a stone and no doubt missing her only son, little Robert who she fondly called her Sweetrobin. Lyarra’s attention was then drawn by King Robert standing _and it is to my greatest sadness that I tell you all that Jon could not attend tonight due to illness, and he will instead be returning to spend the rest of his tune at his home with his family in the Eyrie._ People began to whisper but Robert paid them no heed _and taking his place as my Hand, the Hand of the King, will be my closest friend since childhood, Eddard Stark._ Lyarra shook her head in surprise and looked to her Father who was watching her closely. _What about Mother?_ Lyarra wanted to scream but she instead smiled forcefully and bowed her head to look at her hands.

After the speech was over and the music once again began Lyarra found herself walking quickly behind her brother heading straight to their Father. Lord Eddard stood and smiled at his children and before they could speak he spoke for them:

“Your Mother and I have known about the Kings desire to have me by his side since he came to Winterfell” _two years ago?_ Lyarra thought with a frown.

“Did you tell Bran and Rickon?” Robb asked quickly, and Lyarra scolded herself for not thinking of her younger brothers. “Did _they_ know?”

“Yes,” Eddard replied, a gentle smile on his face. “Sansa and Arya have known for some time as well.” Lyarra frowned at him as he looked at Robb.

“Did you know?” Lyarra asked Robb accusingly but her brothers’ expression told her the truth of the matter as soon as he turned on her. _The bastard_ Lyarra thought in annoyance _this is the longest he has ever been able to keep anything from me._ She pursed her lips and looked back to her Father. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to surprise you” Eddard said honestly. “I know how much you do not wish to be from your family. I wanted to tell you, but I knew that you would have too many questions.” _Questions_ Lyarra smiled, her Father always said she had too many questions, since she was old enough to talk. “But now let us celebrate, it is after all your name day, is it not?” Lyarra smiled at her Father as he gave her his hand and took her to dance upon the space that had been cleared for dancers.

As Robb watched his Father make Lyarra blush and laugh below he wondered if the Prince would love her half as well as their Father had, and no doubt always would. _If he doesn’t I will throw him from the highest point of the Red Keep and nobody will recognize his body, not even his own Mother._ Robb smiled and turned to look upon the Prince who beckoned for him _but until then_ Robb decided _I best be kind to the future King of the Realm._


	12. The Sept of Baelor

Lyarra escaped the celebrations long after the King had fallen asleep in his cups and the Prince had gone to bed. Excusing herself to sleep she took Ula outside into the fresh nights air and couldn’t remember a time where she had felt more awake. Kings Landing was abuzz below it seemed, lamps highlighted the streets all the way to Flea Bottom and Lyarra could hear songs and shouts from where she currently stood. With Ula by her side she walked away from the Red Keep and looked towards the great Sept of Baelor. _Baelor the blessed_ Lyarra thought as her feet moved towards the Sept subconsciously. _The ninth Targaryen King who starved himself into an early grave_ Lyarra had learnt enough about Targaryen’s to name many of their Kings and Queens, Arya often asked her to talk of the Dragonknight, Aemon Targaryen who had died protecting his King. Lyarra liked to talk about the Targaryens, _they never knelt_ she thought with an odd sense of sadness as she recalled her own ancestor, Torrhen Stark better known as the King Who Knelt and the last King of Winterfell who knelt to Aegon the conqueror when the Targaryens first came and took Westeros as their new home.

Lyarra looked up at the night sky and studied the stars as they walked towards the Sept, she could hear steps behind her and assumed that a guard had been sent to follow her; it bothered her not. _Let them follow me_ she thought _I go to see the Sept of the Targaryen King, nothing more._ When Lyarra arrived at the Sept she turned once more to see her Lord Father and the now Hand of the King standing below at the foot of the stairs. Behind him three gold cloaks followed.

“This isn’t Winterfell” Lord Eddard said before climbing the stairs to stand beside his eldest child. “Wandering the streets of Kings Landing is not the same as riding Aemon outside the walls.”

 _Aemon_ Lyarra thought as she recalled Robb taking her to the stables so that she could see the beast again, he had aged well and beside him in the stalls were his offspring. _I had tried to breed him with the finest mares in Kings Landing, but he wouldn’t touch them. The only horse he had any interest in was a black beast without a name. Apparently she came from Flea Bottom, but she was a gentle thing and I couldn’t let Aemon go without him having heirs. I knew it would upset you._ Lyarra had listened closely as she went to the two stallions that had been bred from her dear Aemon, both were black as night and skittish. _They hate the stalls but once you take them out of here they are fine, they just hate being confined_ Robb had promised and Lyarra had agreed with the horses on that. _What are their names?_ She had asked, moving back to Aemon and kissing his long nose fondly. _Torrhen and Baelor_ Lyarra smiled, glad that they had been named from their History as Aemon and Valarr had been.

“Lyarra?” Eddard pushed, taking her elbow. “I’m not joking.”

“I never said you were,” Lyarra half whined as she looked up into her Fathers grey eyes. “I just needed to clear my head, to see this place. Ula will protect me Father.”

“I’m sure the King and Queen would love to hear stories of a Northern Direwolf mauling their people to death in the depths of the night” Eddard replied in an amused tone as they entered the Sept of Baelor.

Lyarra felt the breath leave her as she entered the holy place and her eyes lifted to the great statues of the Seven who seemed to gaze down on her. _Not my Gods_ Lyarra thought breathlessly _they’re just statues_ she tried to tell herself but even the air in this odd place seemed to radiate something she could not quite put her finger on. Eddard watched his daughter wander around the building for some time until she stopped, her eyes returned to her Father and she asked to leave.

“What did you think?” Eddard asked as they began their journey back to the Red Keep.

“I think that the Old Gods are a lot more humble than the Seven. The Seven need this blessing and that blessing and a God for every trouble, the Old Gods need only words, a prayer and kindness.” Lyarra shrugged and looked to her Father who now stared straight ahead, his face thoughtful as his steps echoed on the cobblestones.

“Don’t you ever pray to the Seven?” Eddard asked quietly when the Red Keep came into view.

“No” Lyarra said honestly. “I see only stones, I feel nothing when I stand before their statues” she hesitated “but I could feel _something_ in that place, I think it was the ghosts of the Targaryens.”

“The ghosts?” Eddard asked, a smile slipping onto his face.

“Is that where they buried Rhaegar?” The smile on Eddard’s face slipped and he looked across at his child.

“Rhaegar was cremated, burnt. As all Targaryens who fall in battle are.”

“What about his brother and sister?” Lyarra pressed eagerly. “What happened to the twins?”

“The twins” Eddard stated quietly. “They died, the girl was burnt as she too fell in battle –“

“Killing the Mountain” Lyarra interrupted. “Visenya died killing the Mountain. Did you ever meet her?”

“No” Eddard said stiffly.

“Never?” Lyarra frowned and Eddard sighed,

“I saw her, once. At a tourney she attended with her brothers.” Lyarra watched Eddard and he knew she was waiting for more, always curious for more information on things that no longer mattered. “She was beautiful and the small folk loved her and her brothers well.” Lyarra waited for more but Eddard was unsure what his daughter wanted to hear, Visenya was a blurred memory to him.

“What about Rhaego?” Lyarra asked softly. “Did he love her?”

“I do not know sweetling.” Eddard replied in the same tone. “Nobody wrote songs about their love.”

“They might have” Lyarra’s tone surprised Eddard, _anger_ laced her words now. “They might have written a lot of things about the Targaryens if King Robert didn’t hate them so much.” She looked ahead and took a steadying breath. “They weren’t all mad, if they were they wouldn’t have built a Sept in honour of Baelor.” Lyarra stopped on the steps to the Red Keep and looked back to her Father. “Thank you for walking with me Father, I think I can find my rooms from here.”

Eddard watched as Lyarra climbed the stairs, Ula close by her side and he sent one of the gold cloaks to make sure that she was safe. After he rested in his own chambers he sat on the edge of his four poster bed and bent to the task of removing his shoes and changing into something more appropriate for sleeping. No doubt Robert would call him to a meeting as soon as the King woke. He found his thoughts wander back to the tourney he had attended all those years ago, Lyanna had been with him. _Lyanna_ Eddard thought painfully as his chest tightened around the image of her face, their Mothers face and Lyarra’s namesake. Prince Rhaego and Princesses Visenya had arrived a day ahead of their Father and older brother, children still and no older than Eddard had been but as hard as he thought on them the only thing Eddard could see of the twins were their dark lilac eyes and their flowing silver hair. A sword on both their hips and horses as black as night beneath them. Robert had an eye for Visenya, he had admitted so when they were but children and Lyanna had not been betrothed to the man. Eddard had laughed at him _she is going to marry soon, you best win her heart tomorrow my friend_ he had said, hoping to bait Robert, he had instead been rewarded with laughter followed by silence. Trying to shake his thoughts Eddard lay down on his bed but the memories plagued him straight into his dreams.

 _Lyanna was beside him chatting happily but Ned could not turn to see her nor could he hear her words, further behind them Brandon was talking with somebody that appeared nothing more than a black shadow. As he walked with his sister Eddard found his eyes drawn to two black horses tied at the stables, Lyanna went to them and began to chat happily to the stable boy about the beasts. Lyanna had always loved horses. From afar laughter could be heard, musical laughter than was unfamiliar to Eddard and as he looked he saw two silver haired Targaryens laughing at something he could not hear. The girl touched her brothers’ face fondly and he kissed her brow in return, Ned felt heat rise to his cheeks as though he was imposing upon something, as though he was witnessing something much more intimate than what he had seen. Before he could look away he found the Princess looking at him, Visenya, yes that was her name, she looked at Ned and smiled a soft smile that reached her eyes before she turned back to her brother, the man she was to marry._ They are so happy _Ned remembered thinking_ they’re in love _and for a moment he wondered if he would ever find a woman who looked at him the way Visenya gazed upon her brother._

 _The dream changed quickly and Ned found himself standing in the Throne Room in Kings Landing, dragon skulls lined the walls and sitting before the Iron Throne he saw bodies resting in a Lannister red cape on the floor. He walked to it slowly, disturbed by the silence of the room he had been in only hours previously, celebrating his children’s name day. As he got closer Ned felt his stomach churn. Laying on the cape of red were the bodies of two women and children, he saw the Princess Elia Martell first, her body almost cleaved in half but in her arms she held the red ruins of a child, her son and Rhaegar’s heir, Aegon. Lying beside Elia, as though asleep was another Princesses, Visenya Targaryen and in her arms a child clung to her, even in death._ Rhaenys, her name was Rhaenys _Ned reminded himself. Visenya’s eyes were open still, looking down at her brother’s child in her arms. She sat then, the dead Targaryen and she looked at Ned straight in the eyes, angry._ I did not know that you supported the murder of children _Visenya said coldly, tears of blood staining her cheeks._

Eddard woke then, his eyes wide as he stared at the top of his four poster bed. _I don’t support the murder of children_ he thought to himself, _I never did._ He recalled the anger he had felt towards Robert when he had let Jaime remain a Kings Guard after he had killed Aerys, _send him to the wall_ he had implored Robert after he had arrived in Kings Landing, but he did not share Neds outrage and instead honoured the man who had killed his enemies. With a bitter taste in his mouth Ned closed his mind to such memories and once again tried to find sleep.

***

Not too far from where her Father slept Lyarra stood by her own window in her small clothes, unable to sleep she had at first studied herself in the tall glass mirror for any changes. _I look the same as yesterday_ she had concluded with an amused smile as she looked up and down her body, although she had not grown overly in height she found her breasts had grown over the past two years and no longer fitted perfectly within her palms, her hips too seemed to have somehow expanded which only reminded her of her mother’s words that she would one day bear strong children. Lyarra had undone her hair and it now bounced down her back in an unruly collection of kinks and curls, the colour of dried blood in the low candle light of her room. Staring out across Kings Landing she felt a familiar sense of homesickness, Ula rested at the foot of her bed, now too large to sleep comfortably on the featherbed Lyarra was accustom to. As Lyarra’s thoughts drifted back to Winterfell she heard a gentle knock on her door, moving slowly she peeked through a crack as she opened her door slightly. Robb stood on the other side and smiled in amusement when he saw her.

“Did anybody see you?” Lyarra asked with a frown,

“Most likely” Robb replied with a rueful grin, Lyarra rolled her eyes at him and returned to her window. “You looked beautiful tonight” he added as he came up behind her as wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Just tonight?” Lyarra teased as she leant back against him.

“Just tonight” Robb replied with a gentle laugh, Lyarra laughed with him and they stayed that way, entwined as they both gazed over Kings Landing for some time. Robb’s eyes searched for the horizon but could barely make out the ships dotted along the water. Tiny lights flickered below like dancers caught in the wind and he began to wonder if this is how his sister would spend the rest of her life, searching for a horizon she couldn’t find as she stood at her window. “Will you be happy here?” Robb dared to ask, his voice barely audible. Lyarra stayed silent for some time before she turned to face him, breaking their embrace.

“Why?” She asked, an all too familiar frown once again settling into her expression. “Happiness has nothing to do with this arrangement. It is for our house and for our family that I stay.” She turned away to glance over at Ula. “I do not think I will be unhappy” she tried, but when she turned her gaze upon Robb once more she saw only her own despair mirrored there.

“Will we ever be together again?” Robb wondered out loud, moving to sit on the edge of Lyarra’s bed. “You will be Queen some day and I will be the Lord of Winterfell.”

“Had Lyanna married Robert do you not think Father would have gone to see her?” The question caught Robb off guard, he had never looked at it that way. “Had Brandon not died do you think he would have come to Kings Landing to see his sister, to see his nieces and nephews?” Lyarra moved to sit beside Robb. “I think he would have, he went to Kings Landing for her once, had he lived he would have done it again.”

The pair were silent as they thought about their long since dead relatives and their Fathers siblings. _All that remains is Uncle Benjen_ Lyarra thought mournfully, _and he does not come to Winterfell all that often._ She began to think of how much her Father must miss his siblings, miss their laughter and their jokes. She supposed he would even miss the things about them that he had not liked, but what those things were Lyarra could only guess as her Father never spoke of the things that left him feeling sorrowful.

“Will you ever return to Winterfell?” Robb asked then, his eyes boring into Lyarra’s as she turned her attention to him. The sudden desperation in her brother’s eyes made her ache. “Do you think Joffrey would let you?” Robb added in a quieter tone.

“You know him better than me,” Lyarra shrugged, resting her hand on Robb’s. “But I do not know for sure, Robb. I want to return to Winterfell but I cannot. All we can do is be grateful that we have had the time granted to us.” Robb nodded in agreement and the pair were silent once more.

After he had left Lyarra lay wide away in her bed, she focused on the tiny rays of light that slipped beneath her door. _I need to be strong_ she told herself as she felt tears welling in her eyes without permission. _I bet the Princesses of old never wept like this, I bet Visenya and Rhaenys did not weep so_ but then she felt foolish, Rhaenys and Visenya had been conquerors and she was nothing more than a wolf that had wandered too far from home. As she felt the tears well over her eyelids she sent a silent prayer to her family back home, and even herself hopinh that Jon Snow felt more at home at the Wall than she felt here, in the Red Keep. 


	13. The Would Be Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating sooner! I tend to write these as I go and recently I have been procrastinating a lot. (And reading, and playing Dragon Age. If you're looking for a new book to read I 100% recommend Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor.) Thank you all for being patient, and I hope that you enjoy.

Lady Lyarra Stark sat perched on her window regarding the new day. Dawn had just arrived and with it the horizon had burst into a hundred different colours, shades of orange and pink dominated the skies whilst birds flew from their nests to fleck the horizon with their black and white forms. _I wonder where they will go today_ Lyarra thought as she often did when she made her way to this familiar place when she woke each morning. With her wedding day quickly approaching she had been spending more and more time being ushered here and there by one person or another to organize the event. _Is this how all women feel?_ She had asked her father one evening when they sat together after dinner. Eddard had laughed and shook his head _not all women become queens, for some it is simple_ and when he had said it he had seen the shadow cross Lyarra’s face. She was becoming better and better at hiding it – the doubt that lingered in the utmost corner of her mind. _I would like simple_ Lyarra often found, _simple and easy and in Winterfell_ with her family. Her Mother was due to come to King’s Landing with her younger brothers in a weeks’ time and Lyarra knew it made her Father uncomfortable _there should always be a Stark in Winterfell_ but she had begged and wept for her family to be together one last time before she was  left in King’s Landing with the Prince.

 _Ungrateful child_ Lyarra knew the Queen thought thus of her. Every time Cersei Lannister was with her an odd chill would creep up her spine and the Queen would watch her as though waiting for her to do something foolish. Lyarra’s time with Arya had become more and more infrequent with the wedding approaching, although nobody had informed her whether or not her sisters would remain in Kings Landing once she was married. If she thought back long enough Lyarra could vaguely remember something about Dorne and marriage, perhaps Arya would be sent there. _That would please her_ Lyarra thought as she saw a raven perch itself on the edge of a fountain in the gardens below, _Arya would like Dorne, they don’t make little girls vulnerable there_ or at least she had heard and read from the histories she had found in the Grand Maester’s library here in Kings Landing. All of a sudden there was a fluttering of wings below and Lyarra was startled to see Ula and Grey Wind chasing the after the raven below. _They should be in their own garden_ she thought worriedly as she drew her skirts up and headed into the halls of the castle, the sunrise soon forgotten.

“Ula!” Lyarra shouted as she ran into the gardens below her window, in the Direwolf’s jaw sat the dead bird and blood dripped down the fur surrounding her snout. Lyarra dropped her skirts and drew her head up high as her Father told her she should when addressing the wild beast. “Ula” Lyarra growled and walked forward confidently, the wolf snarled but dropped the bird.

“What in seven hells” the voice made Lyarra turn and in that moment Ula grabbed the bird’s corpse and darted off all too quickly. Lyarra met Theon Greyjoy’s gaze and rolled her eyes at him.

“Go find Robb, I saw Grey Wind down here as well” she instructed, for a moment it looked as though Theon would not move. “Did I stutter?” Lyarra asked with a frown at the Greyjoy heir, Theon didn’t respond but turned and left. By the time her brother appeared Lyarra had blood down the front of her gown and dirt collected happily on the skirts.

“What happened?” Robb asked, but Lyarra was kneeling in the dirt with Ula by her side, after a moment the wolf whined and Lyarra began to shake. “Lyarra?” Robb approached and found that the blood did not belong to a dead raven but his sister, on her arm was a great bite mark that pulsed with blood at every heartbeat. “Seven hells” Robb cried as he went to his knees and took Lyarra’s arm in his hand, she cried out and drew back from him. “What happened?”

“Ula bit me” Lyarra said quietly, not looking at anything nor anyone. Her eyes trained on the wound on her left forearm. “I tried to stop her from eating the raven and she bit me.”

“What did you expect?” Robb asked, unsure whether or not he would have tried to deter Grey Wind from a meal. Lyarra looked at him then, eyes blazing with unspoken anger. She stood and went to leave him but Ula whined again and she turned to look at the beast.

“What?” Lyarra growled, “It is not your fault that you are wild. You should not be here, you should have stayed in Winterfell.” Robb watched as Lyarra strode away for a long moment before chasing after her and all but dragging her to the Grand Maester.

After the pair arrived and listened to Grand Maester Pycelle grunt and moan about the state of the young Lady Lyarra’s arm. _In all my years_ Lyarra heard him murmur but whatever was said afterwards was lost amidst the Maesters long snowy beard. As the man went about trying to fix Lyarra’s arm the young Stark girl found her eyes wandering about the chambers; odd potions and flasks of things she could not fathom lined the walls. Robb’s eyes too found these things and began to wonder just how many Kings the Maester had served as he wasn’t a particularly young man and Robb had seen more than one whore heading in the direction of his chambers before heading off shortly after. Robb too recalled seeing the whores around the Red Keep tending to the King and his eldest son. If any of the Kings Guard took pleasures of the flesh Robb couldn’t blame them, he had been with more than one of the women from Petyr Baelish’s brothels and had been pleased enough at the time to forget anything or anybody else. _That was then_ Robb told himself, his eyes reverting to his sister who sat still whilst Pycelle dabbed odd smelling potions into the cut. Her eyes drawn down Robb noticed not for the first time the way her eyelashes curled against her eyelids and the permanent look of boredom his sister wore when having to partake in something that was not her idea of fun. When the Maester was done he let the twins leave and sent a messenger boy off to Lord Eddard to make sure that he knew his daughter had been mauled by one of the Northern beasts they had thought to bring with them from Winterfell.

Walking beside him Lyarra found Robb oddly quiet. His eyes forever drawn to the newly wrapped bandage on her forearm she wondered if he pitied her. _It would not be the first time_ she countered, looking away from Robb to hide her grief she found herself looking at none other than Jaime Lannister. The Kings Guard stopped and spoke to the pair for a brief moment, no doubt the King had sent him to do one thing or another, although Lyarra could hardly blame the Knights expression of boredom. Robb had told her that the King entertained more than one whore in his spare time and often the Kings Guard had to stand outside his chamber doors. _Poor Jaime_ Lyarra thought _listening to the King shame his sister in that way._ When the Knight was gone the pair continued towards the gardens where the Wolves were supposed to be kept. Theon now stood at the doorway squinting at the ground as though he had found something interesting, when he looked up to see Robb and Lyarra approaching however, he called out.

“You’re lucky the beast didn’t hurt anyone” Theon said aghast, talking to Robb. Lyarra looked into the garden to see that Grey Wind and Ula had since returned. Neither made a move to approach them.

“I wouldn’t say that” Robb replied, gesturing to Lyarra’s arm. “Ula had a different idea to Grey Wind, it seems.”

“And what idea did Grey Wind have?” Lyarra challenged, Robb rubbed the back of his head and shrugged

“Nothing – I just…” his voice trailed off and he shrugged again in time for Lyarra to roll her eyes and wander back to her chambers in disdain.

Half way there she was drawn from her thoughts by one of the handmaidens crying out in shock at the state of Lyarra’s gown. Suddenly reminded of the blood she did no more than send for a bath. Whilst she waited in her chambers for a bath to be brought to her she stared out the window again and exhaled heavily. _Ula must be sent back to Winterfell_ the thought was not as painful as losing Robb or her sisters, yet the guilt remained.

***

The morning after Lyarra woke, dressed and went about her usual day to day tasks. She was walking with the Prince and discussing the Queens quick departure to Casterly Rock with Joffrey’s younger siblings when the Tyrell Company arrived. There had been talk for some time about their coming and Lyarra was not disappointed when she saw them. _Beautiful children_ she sighed when she saw them in awe. Margaery Tyrell, to be one of Lyarra’s ladies after she became Princess was absolutely beautiful. _She is like a doe, an innocent creature curtained by a forest of oak hair._ Beside her Loras Tyrell stood too, her older brother was just as handsome as his sister but in place of admiration Lyarra found her heart quicken for him. Instead of their parents the Tyrell siblings were accompanied by their elder brother Garlan, _Ser_ Garlan Lyarra told herself. _He has all the handsome of his brother, but hides it behind a beard_ she frowned but quickly softened her expression when Ser Garlan’s eyes met her own. The three and their guard stopped before the Prince and Lyarra and exchanged pleasantries until the Prince excused himself and Lyarra escorted the eldest Tyrell to his chambers despite his protests.

“My Lady” Garlan tried once more, “it is not fit for you to _escort_ me as though you are some common page.” Lyarra’s laughter filled the corridors at his remark and Garlan felt his complaints soften. _She has a musical laugh_ he thought to himself absently.

“Does the Queen not entertain Lords and Ladies? Does the King not greet his nobles when they come?” Lyarra shrugged and looked back at the handsome man, he would be at least four years older but nonetheless, in a different lifetime he could have belonged to her. _If I was southern lady_ she added as an afterthought.

“I suppose they do” Garlan agreed in amusement, _this one may yet be a good Queen_ but he had heard things said of the Prince and it was common knowledge that you could not trust the courteous nobles of Kings Landing. _Although she is not Southern_ the thought struck him suddenly, after Lady Lyarra had stopped at his chamber doors and waited with an odd expression on her face. “Have I offended you?” The words spilt out unceremoniously;

“No” Lyarra replied, cocking her head to one side in the fashion of a bird. “I should go now, however. I am to sup with my father this evening.” And then she was gone, her lilac gown trailing behind her as she disappeared up the corridors.

“Farewell my Lady” Garlan said softly, certain that he would see her again soon.

How wrong he had been.

***

 _In her dreams she wore no clothes, her hair was gone and her head felt prickly. She was surrounded by darkness as she always was, but she was unbearably hot; as though somebody were dousing her in flames._ Wake, wake, wake _a million voices seemed to chorus in the empty space surrounding her._ It is time _a single voice called at her, almost shouting._ So familiar _Lyarra thought; she reached her arms out but felt nothing._ Safe, safe, safe _the words called, almost soothing her._

Lyarra woke to somebody shaking her vigorously _wake, wake, wake_ the words of her dreams echoed in her mind like thunder but the Castle was silent. Above her Jory stood, a soft apologetic expression on his face as he lifted his finger to his lips and nodded as she rose herself from her bed quietly. _Is this a dream?_ Lyarra took Jory’s hand cautiously, if it were a dream surely he would refuse. But the man held tight onto the ladies hand and they went out into the corridors to find it oddly absent of guards. Following his orders Lyarra was silent; the only sound her footfall on the polished hallway floors.

“Jory –“Lyarra tried to talk but the man turned and covered her mouth with speed she was not aware he had had in the first place. Wide eyed and terrified Jory shook his head, again with that look of soft apology on his face. _Trust_ she told herself _if it is a dream then nothing can hurt you._

It wasn’t long before they were outside of the castle, the cool night air brought a chill to Lyarra that she hadn’t felt for a long while in the capital. Aemon tossed his head anxiously, already he was saddled and beside him his sons stood too, fully saddled and waiting to be mounted. Quickly Lyarra’s confusion began to clear then; the Kings absent from court, the Queens departure and the Prince’s confusion. Her Father’s silence at supper and request for her to go to bed early. _Something is happening_ she turned all at once to see Sansa, Arya and Robb running down the stairs that led to the castle, behind them four great Direwolves and one Theon Greyjoy followed quickly. All at once her heartbeat began to race and she gathered her frightened sisters in her arms and kissed Sansa’s head. _Safe, safe, safe_ her dreams repeated words haunted her and she tossed the thoughts from her head as Robb began whispering frantically with Jory.

She did not address them, instead she helped Arya onto a horse with Theon before Jory and Robb turned their attention to them. Lyarra waited until Sansa was safe upon Aemon with Jory before she and Robb mounted Torrhen. The beast felt unfamiliar beneath her legs, but Robb’s strong arms around her waist gave her strength as she took the reins and he covered her hands with him. _Let’s go_ he breathed into her ear, as though she could possibly know where they were headed.

All was forgotten when they took off – as though flying through the streets of Kings Landing. _It is odd that there are no guards_ she thought once more, but if her Father had known he no doubt would have organized for his children to be taken to safety without interruption. Robb’s body felt strong and comforting behind her as Lyarra leaned back into him. Before them the four great Direwolves ran freely, snapping at anything or anyone that dare get in their way. _We are lucky there are no ravens_ Lyarra thought bitterly as they eventually made it out of the capital and headed back towards… towards… _Winterfell?_ The thought struck Lyarra all too quickly, all too hard and she felt her eyes become wet with tears. _We’re going home?_ She dared to hope. However, if the would be Princess had known why she was heading North, she may not have been so glad.


	14. The Hollow Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War brews South but brings the dead North.

The Northern wind swept across a small camp situated south of Winterfell and inside it stalked two great Direwolves who paid no heed to any but their masters. One such of these masters walked without caution through the camp, her hair hanging in auburn wisps about her face, neck and shoulders. Without her Lady Mother or a Queen to keep a watchful eye the eldest Stark child had found herself taking new liberties every day. On the night of the full moon she had found herself walking among some of the men’s campfires, they were Northerners that travelled with her brother after the whispers of war had begun. _South_ she thought the word as though a curse, and indeed it felt one. Ever since Jory had woken her in Kings Landing and they had escaped from an unknown danger Lyarra had been angry; angry at the Queen for poisoning her husband and angry at her lord Father for not telling her _why_. There had been whispers of course, men said all kinds of things when they were drunk, Lyarra had found. _It was the Tyrell girl, the Lannister bitch hadn’t given the King any more children and you think the world didn’t notice? Renly Baratheon came in and whispered to the King until the fool started thinking with his cock and not his head. Our country will bleed for this and why? Fuck the Southerners. Bring our Lord home and be done with it._ Lyarra had thought of the words and they had played over and over as she lay in her bed of furs; Ula ever present in the woman’s tent had whined until her mistress had rolled over and fallen into a fitful sleep.

The smell of smoke clung to the camp, Lyarra had found that out early on. Robb had been wroth when he discovered she had followed from Winterfell. _You should not be here!_ He had shouted at her, Robb, her Robb had shouted and growled under his breath and she knew why they had begun to call him the Young Wolf. _Does that make me the She Wolf?_ She had wanted to ask somebody, but she had stayed still and listened to her brother ridicule her for not remaining in Winterfell with her family.

“Do you understand?” Robb had implored finally, reaching out and tenderly taking her arm. “You aren’t safe out here in the wild, none of us are and you least of all.”

“Because I am a woman?” Lyarra had bitten back, withdrawing her arm from his grasp. Robb had looked at her for a long moment before replying, his expression sad.

“Yes” the word was deliberate and slow. “But not for the reasons you may think.” Robb had added quickly, moving to take her shoulders. “I do not think you are weak Lya” his voice had been so soft that Lyarra had wanted nothing more than to apologize and head back to Winterfell, but instead she had waited. “Do you know what happened to our aunt Lyanna?”

“What?” The words had stung Lyarra like ice cold water being tossed over her body. Aunt Lyanna had been kidnapped by the Prince of Dragonstone. _Rhaegar Targaryen_ she wanted to say this out loud but something stopped her – he raped her, he killed her. Lyarra knew the story well, and she knew Robb did too.

“War is not a place for a woman.”

“Lyanna was not in the midst of war and she was still taken and even so, if she had been – that is her choice and she should not be blamed for the choices that the men around her chose to make _for_ her.”

“You will not return to Winterfell?” Robb tried one last time, but Lyarra shook her head and Robb had let her leave.

Two guards paced the camp in agitation, word had come the night before about their Lord but nobody had spoken of it since. The boy who had been fostered in Kings Landing had not left his tent since the early hours of the morning when he had relieved himself. They had seen the Lady Lyarra talking to various men of the camp, her wild hair flowing about her shoulders like a flame cowl. One of the guards wondered if she was still intended to the Prince and the other thought less honourable things, vulgar things. When she came to them she held too wineskins in her hands and offered them with an unbearably innocent look of glee.

“I bring gifts” she said as the guards took them. “I know it sets fire to the stomach and keeps your warm. After all” she raised a single eyebrow “ _Winter is Coming.”_ It was odd, the guards felt, that when the family words were said by this particular Stark that it felt like such a threat.

“Thank you my Lady” One said, tipping his head before taking a gulp of the sour wine. The other stayed silent and the pair watched Lyarra wander off into the camp once more; her four cloak hanging elegantly at her back. 

“I wonder how much of this wine it would take for the bitch to lose her cloak” the silent guard growled, tossing the wine skin on the ground. “I’ve been in more than enough wars to know that those types of women are bad luck.”

“Back luck, what are you on about? My Lady is the only thing that brings light to this damned camp.”

“This camp don’t need light, boy.” The guard growled at his companion. “It needs an end to this fucking war.”

War. It had begun with a single idea: replace the Lannister Queen with a younger, prettier girl with just as much to offer. In this situation, it had been Margaery Tyrell; whose family had food and supplies to help feed the poor of Kings Landing. Renly Baratheon had been encouraged to partake in the convincing by his squire, Ser Loras Tyrell and all in all it had seemed nothing more than an idea. _At first._ Robert had seen Margaery of course and a whisper here and there encouraged the King to believe that this woman bore a like to Lyanna Stark. His Lyanna who the Targaryen Prince had kidnapped, raped and killed. The longer the idea had fostered the more it had bothered Robert, like an itch that ought to be scratched. A Kings itch; and don’t Kings always get what they want? It had been too late to turn back when the Tyrell company had arrived in Kings Landing, the Queen had left with her youngest children to visit her Father; Lord Tywin of Casterly Rock. In her wake the Queen had left the King poisoned and more than fifty castle servants at risk of being accused and later hung. Only five had been killed. None had been responsible.

Lord Eddard had figured the plan two days too late and Lord Renly had filled him in the things that he had not thought of. That evening he had had his children escorted from the castle and returned to Winterfell least they be the victim of Lannister sympathizers. _It is a long shot_ Ned had agreed when Jory had asked him if it was worth the risk, _if it keeps them alive?_ Lord Eddard Stark had shaken his head, of course it was worth the risk to keep his children alive. However now the Kings Hand was trying to stop the King from destroying the country. _For a woman half your age and not worth a war_ he had said when his temper finally flared; it had taken a lot to get to this point. Men had already died for this so called cause, but the King didn’t care for Margaery any more than he cared for Cersei. He cared only that somebody had tried to kill him, and every lead led straight to his wife and the Queen. Cersei Lannister was safe at Casterly Rock with her youngest children, Tommen and Myrcella as well as her Father Lord Tywin. Nobody could touch them there but they could still start a war. It had begun a small flame, small raids of villages and deaths of little consequence until one day Eddard Stark and his soldiers had been heading back from talking with one of the Southern Lords when they were laid upon by men disguised as robbers. _But thieves never fought so well_ Eddard knew and that evening the King had no news of his Hand. By the time he got it, it was too late and the letters were sent to call the banners. That day wildfire began and every day since the King has fanned it. Robb Stark had received word at dawn and had been sending ravens to all the Northern Lords since. _War, war, war._ The words rung in his head, pounded, until they gave him a headache and he had had to close his eyes; _just for a moment_ he told himself _just for a moment._ Yet when he woke the sun was beginning to fall and Lyarra was shaking him, true fright in her eyes.

“Is it true?” she asked shakily, fresh tears wet her cheeks and for a moment Robb forgot what the letters said and wanted nothing more than to soothe his sisters worries and kiss her cheeks until they were free of tears. But he couldn’t do that.

“Yes” his voice was a whisper that Lyarra didn’t want to hear, her jaw clenched and she drew back from him as though he had slapped her.

“Our Father is _dead_ and you… you choose to _sleep?”_ She cried out in frustrated, her hands turned into fists and she groaned. “Robb” Lyarra looked at him desperately and he shook his head quickly.

“He is not dead” he reassured her, “Father lives, Lyarra” his voice was hurried and he stood to hold her but paused, thinking better of it. “He was set upon by sell swords, but he lives.” For a moment it looked as though she would not speak, her silence a welcome gift to his pounding head. “They are bringing him back to Winterfell as we speak, but we cannot his attackers go without punishment.”

“Sellswords?” Lyarra asked, raising an eyebrow in concern. “Are we to sail to Braavos and kill the entirety of the Golden Company or should I have left you to sleep?” Sarcasm laced her words and Robb almost wanted to laugh.

“Lannisters, not the Golden Company Lyarra” and with that their conversation was done as Lyarra disappeared from the tent without speaking a reply. Ula’s form was quickly apparent in the tent opening before it closed after Lyarra’s exit.

The sun had begun its descent early it seemed, or perhaps she had waited unsuccessfully for Robb to wake for too long. That’s all she felt she did these days - wait for her brother to make decisions for men who were hungry to return north. _They won’t be returning now._ The thought was morbid but true, war was a great hulking thing that swallowed men whole. All the thoughts of war made Lyarra’s gut clench in fear; fear for her family and fear for herself. If her Father was returning to Winterfell was he returning whole? Where was the King? Had Robert sent her Father home out of love for his childhood friend or fear that he may die? All these thoughts ran rampant in the young Northern ladies mind until she found herself standing at the makeshift archery station where the few archers who had accompanied Robb this far practised during the day. Lyarra had practised few times in the past two years with a bow when she had found that it didn’t bother her mother as much as swordplay. _You are a natural_ Jory had said once when he had found her practising before dawn. Lyarra had paused and lowered the bow to look at him gently. “Or perhaps I have just had a lot of practise” she had replied warmly. Jory had chuckled at that before inclining his head and continuing on his way. _Jory_ Lyarra thought with a heavy heart, the man had headed back South as soon as they were half way back to Winterfell.

Lyarra cleared her mind by grabbing a discarded bow and notching one of the arrows she pulled from a dummy. The bow felt odd to hold, heavier than the one she had had in Winterfell. She held the bow in position and took a steadying breath before releasing the arrow. It took flight and flew elegantly through the air until it soared over the dummy and out of sight. _Seven hells_ Lyarra cursed, looking around to see if anybody had seen her flimsy attempt at archery, lowing the bow after finding nobody had seen she disappeared into the surrounding wood to search for the arrow. The air thickened around her as the trees began to loom, covering her shadow with their own. Lyarra pulled her fur cloak tightly around her shoulders self-consciously as she began to search, her eyes lingering on the odd bone that littered the woods floor. The complete silence enveloped her like an old friend and all the worries she had previously fretted over seemed to disappear as she searched for the lost arrow and although she had never been in this particular place nor surrounded by their particular place, the northern trees felt just like the ones surrounding Winterfell.

A noise disrupted the silence and drew Lyarra’s attention to her great Direwolf Ula, _she must have followed me from the camp._ Ula’s presence had been so constant that Lyarra often forgot that the best roamed close beside or behind her, she was more of a shadow than companion these days. Just as Grey Wind was for Robb. Ula walked silently to Lyarra side where she hovered by her side, waiting for a sign that she was wanted. Ever since Kings Landing the beast had been more and more cautious in regards to her mistress, the scar on Lyarra’s forearm a constant reminder of the distance between them. As Ula waited Lyarra rested a hand on her shoulders, caressing her fur with a simple circular motion of her thumb; something that she had done a lot when Ula was still a pup. Not the size of a pony. After a short moment of contact Lyarra removed her hand and the pair continued on looking for the arrow. Long moments dragged on until the arrow was found buried in a large tree, Lyarra was pulling on it unceremoniously when a long, loud horn made her look back to the camp. _That sounds like…_ she didn’t bother to lift her skirts as she made her way from the trees and into the clearing where a routine of soldiers had shown come into view, their torches bright with orange flame in the dim distance. Robb was standing at the front of his tent curiously watching the distance. If they had only received news of their Father this morning, why would he be here now? _I suppose I didn’t read the letter_ Lyarra thought, angry at herself for not asking to read it.

As the camp waited for the soldiers to arrive she out of the three dozen or so that more than half had reached for their swords in fear. _Is it fear?_ She asked herself _or are they just sick of waiting in this camp day in day out?_ They had been here for over a moon now, in this particular camp anyway. As the soldiers drew closer Lyarra saw they had the Stark flags, and leading them was a face she knew almost as well as her Fathers. _Jory_ Lyarra lurched forward with joy but stopped quickly when she noticed the drawn, tired look on his face. Behind him a carriage was being drawn and as she looked closer Lyarra noticed that none of the men drew faces of relief, just tense sadness. _Sadness_ the thought as the carriage came to a half nearby, Jory smiled at her but it did not reach the man’s face.

Robb strode forward from his tent and up to the men, Jory dismounted and the two embraced before talking in hushed tones. With him Jory had brought more than four dozen men, some Lyarra recognized and others wore faces that she had not seen before. _Strangers_ she wondered why her Father would allow such men to protect him – if he were indeed in the carriage. As Robb drew nearer Lyarra followed, running to keep close to her brother’s side.

“How is he?” Lyarra asked, her voice broke from disuse and concern. “Father” she clarified before Jory could pretend that he did not understand her question.

“He is alive” Jory replied softly, a voice he had used a very long time ago when she lay in her bed after Arthur had died. He had visited between her sleeps, Lyarra’s Mother had instructed her to thank the man for his efforts but she hadn’t managed much more than to ask what happened to Arthurs body. _He will be buried_ Jory had almost whispered, smiling gently at the little Lady. _His Mother and Father are with him now, but he will be buried before nightfall._ “He is strong” Jory added as they drew to the side of the carriage.

As the door opened Lyarra’s nostrils were assailed with an unfamiliar smell that in the months to come would become as familiar as the smell of wood fires and the wild Northern wind. _Oh_ Lyarra stepped back and went to turn away but Jory caught her hand and steadied her with a look that told her that she must bear witness. When she turned she was drawn not to her Father’s eyes, but the bloodied bandages that covered his entire left leg and his waist and all at once she understood why Robb had asked her to stay side. Because a part from the rape, the harm and the hurt war brings it had suddenly become abundantly clear that war did not only kill; it took brave men and turned them into the walking dead. Her eyes slid to her Father’s face and she was met with a blank dead stare, a stare that did not belong to Eddard Stark, but a hollow man.


	15. Weirwood

Lyarra had begged her brother not to make her see him, the corpse that had returned from the south but Robb had insisted until she had no choice; it had been almost a full week since her Father had become a part of their camp and everyday he stayed new men arrived. _Loyal men_ Lyarra had to remind herself when she saw their hard eyes turn on her _they don’t want me here_ she knew that, it was clear as day that they thought she was bad luck. Perhaps she was. The dreams that had been infrequent since her journey south had become more and more frequent, she dreamt often of blindness and searing pain until one evening things had changed.

 _A man stood before her, yet he had no face. His hair was snow and his eyes the colour of fire; in the darkness he was all she saw. Powerful yet uncertain, strong yet weak. None of it had made sense, but the man had reached for her hand and all of a sudden they had been surrounded by light, light and sand. The sun above them a giant orb of fire that lingered all too close to the sand dunes._ I do not know this place _the thought had been obvious yet necessary to draw Lyarra back into the darkness of sleep; it hadn’t worked. Instead she had followed the strange man until it became aware that they were standing atop a hill overlooking a palace; the palace had high sandstone walls and inside Lyarra saw vibrant gardens that echoed the sound of children, some there, some not._ This is a place of memories _she realised as she saw a woman with olive skin talking to a man of simular appearance, they laughed and ran together in the gardens as though they themselves were children until the woman vanished and the man remained alone, silent and angry before he too disappeared._

 _Lyarra looked at her silent companion and found his blazing eyes directly upon her, he pointed to the palace once more and in one of the high windows she saw a familiar face; one of her sisters sat with a boy; they laughed together but Lyarra could not tell if it were Arya or Sansa that sat with him inside the room no matter how long she stared. When she turned away she found herself standing on the deck of a ship that was surrounded only by the vast Sea._ The Narrow Sea _Lyarra told herself, yet she could not tell how she knew this. Again the man stood with her, but he had faded and the crew walked through him as though he was not there. Powerful, yet uncertain, strong yet weak. His body rippled with muscle beneath his tunic, muscle that she surely should not know was there; yet she did. Beneath his tunic was a wound she had felt, a wound she had been witness to the making and begged the Old Gods and the New to heal; least he die. All at the same time he was a stranger, a stranger that had shown her light from her dark place and now when he turned to face her she saw him; just a glimpse of his face. He smiled with perfectly cut teeth and she walked to him, her hand reached for his shoulder and she felt –_

A cry had drawn her from the dream then, the cry of the corpse she had come to know it as. More of a grunt that a cry in truth, but none the less in one of her frustrated moods she had named it thus. When Robb had finally convinced her to go and see her Father he had not offered to accompany her; instead he had stared at her blankly and she had gone. Their relationship ever strained since he had told her to leave, even more now with their Father wounded. Lyarra had seen Ice, their Father’s Valyrian Steel greatsword in the tent that had been raised for Robb and wondered if this meant that Robb was preparing to lead the Northern armies south. Ice had sat across a desk, resting on the Direwolf head that had served as its home for as long as Lyarra dared think back; it had a smoky appearance, as though it had been forged in the ashes of a forest fire; _but it wasn't_ she told herself. The blade itself had been forged in Old Valyria before the Doom came and all the dragons and their masters had died. _Except for the Targaryens_ Lyarra had thought warmly _because of the Daenys who dreamt that Valyria would be destroyed so her Father Aenar moved half way across the world to Dragonstone._ The Targaryens always held interest to her. Ever since she was a child and learnt her letters she had loved to read of the Dragons and their Targaryen riders; she had even began to dream of them. Their hair always silver and their eyes various lilacs, violets and indigo's. Her dreams had stopped when the writings had been confiscated by her Father; a act that took years for the eldest Stark child to understand, and when she had finally understood she had had the grace to feel guilty. Lyarra never forgot about her Aunt Lyanna after that, that she had been kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen. They said that her Father bought Lyanna’s body back North, but she had never asked about it. Eddard Stark did not speak of his family often, not those who had died in the war at least, at the hands of the Targaryens.

“Lyarra” Eddard’s voice called to her now and Lyarra was forced to turn and look at him. He had aged a decade since she had seen him last. The skin on his face haggard and his eyes sunken into his skull. Her Father had never been a handsome nor gallant looking man; yet he had been honorable and kind. _Now he looks like a corpse_ she clenched her teeth but did not move closer. Pain flickered across Eddard’s eyes but he hid it well. “I don’t suppose you asked your Mother if you could come here” the sentence surprised Lyarra so much that she felt her resolve crumble; just a little.

“I am old enough to make my own choices,” she replied defensively

“Old enough to…” Eddard shut his eyes but nodded slowly in agreement. “You don’t want to see me?” although he tried his best her Father could not hide the disappointment in his words, nor the hurt.

“I would rather see you when you are well,”

“Then you should go, do not let your brother bully you into doing things you don’t want to do.” Lyarra hesitated, unsure whether to stay or go when her Father continued. “Even if that is my last advice to you, take it. Don’t let Robb force you to do things you don’t like.” Lyarra narrowed her eyes before realizing what he meant.

“What do you mean your last advice?” she changed the subject quietly before moving closer to sit beside him. “You aren't going to die, are you?” Her Father surprised her then by laughing; it was not a happy laugh nor a particularly humorous one. It just sounded tired. “You’re not going to die.” Lyarra added in a steel voice.

“It is up to the Gods now,” Eddard replied, his eyes closed for a moment to long and Lyarra jerked forward, uncertain what to do when they fluttered open again. “I will go back to Winterfell then, see Cat… the girls” his voice trailed off and he seemed to be looking through her. “Bran and Rickon will need their Father.”

“And me?” Lyarra hesitated “I can stay?”

“Stay?” Eddard’s brow creased and his eyes found hers, his sad grey Stark eyes and he wished that he did not see so much of Brandon’s determination in his eldest child’s eyes. _They have come to haunt me_ he thought achingly, his brother and sister who had died so long ago were reflected in his children more than he liked to admit. Even Sansa, behind her trained behavior had pieces of Lyanna stitched lightly to her being; but Arya bore her look and expressed her freewill more than he felt Sansa ever would. _That doesn't worry me half as much…._ Eddard looked at Lyarra, her eyes staring at him, waiting for his answer as Brandon had every time he had already made a choice but asked their Father permission nonetheless. “This camp will move, but you may accompany it” before she could respond Eddard continued; “with conditions” but even with that a smile had crept onto his daughters face.

“Anything” she replied, eager to please him now, no longer aware of his haggard look.

“Jory will stay close, I trust him and know that you do too. He is not a hard man but you will heed his warnings or I will send somebody much worse to come and take you home. I do not care that you are a woman grown, you are still my daughter.” Eddard hesitated now, “this conflict should be done soon, and the country doesn't need to bleed. Hopefully you and Robb will return to Winterfell before the frosts begin and you will marry the Prince as was planned.”

Whatever else her Father said Lyarra didn't hear, she nodded whilst thinking of all the new places she would go. With the risk of war seeming minimum she thought of running barefoot along the trident with Ula and Grey Wind, Jory yelling at her from a distance; unfortunately she did not have the sense to consider the risks entwined with her being in the camp. And so the downfall began.

***

The _twang_ of her bowstring releasing its arrow was as familiar to Lyarra as her own heartbeat these days. The past two moons of fighting had given her that and her constant view from the trees, hills or nearby distances had shown her what war truly looked like. _Death, tears, blood and cowards_ to name a few, she told herself. Below another battle between a group of Lannister allies went on, Robb would win as he always had; the Northerners had begun to gather in great numbers not long after her Father had begun the slow journey back to Winterfell. Below her Jory stood by the great tree trunk, she crouched on one of the mid branches for a better view and he waited patiently, his own bow in hand as he picked off the enemy. The other lords laughed at him for staying with Lyarra, _Bolton, Glover, Karstark, and Umber_ they all laughed or sneered or whispered unkind things about the man but Jory didn't hear them or chose to ignore them. _I have sworn to your Father to protect you – his eldest and first child, what is more honorable than that? These men fight for you Father, that is true Lyarra, but why do they fight? Because they are honorable or because they like the bloodshed? I fight to keep you safe, and I would rather keep you safe than hack dozens of men to death every day for this meaningless War._ Lyarra had looked up at him for a long moment _you think this war is meaningless?_ She had asked in return; _I think all wars are meaningless, what can be solved with a sword can surely be solved with words between King and his subjects, only fools want War._

“It is drawing to an end my Lady” Jory called from below, Lyarra nodded in silent agreement as she saw the battle before her dwindle. It had begun at dawn and now the sun was falling once again. “Come down, before your brother sees you again.” _Again_ thought Lyarra with a frown, her eyebrows drew together in annoyance she _helped_ no matter how little, she was helping. Robb did not see it thus, _keep out of sight or do not come at all, Father would not forgive me if you were killed for being a fool._ They had not spoken since that outburst and Lyarra had no desire too, her once warm natured brother had turned cold to her. _But I have not changed_ she remembered the promise she had made those years ago, _I will not break it._

The guards watched with weary eyes as Lyarra returned with Jory by her side, Ula sat with them patiently, having been told to stay in case danger came to the camp. Lyarra ran her hand through the wolf’s fur and the trio entered the camp silently. The battle was still finishing and Lyarra had time to eat before witnessing what damage that had been wrought. Jory sat in silence without touching the food that had been left by one of the servants who had ventured forth with the men. More oft they were whores looking for extra coin, but Lyarra had learnt not to be surprised by half naked women walking through the camp, whether it be day or night.

When the men returned to camp Lyarra waited patiently as always, her heart drumming at an escalated pace as she waited for Robb to appear as he always did. And he did. His face slick with sweat and his eyes tired, dark circles beneath them from the effect this war had begun to have on him. As usual the pair did not speak, instead they looked at each other for a brief moment before they went their separate ways. _We may not be one anymore_ Lyarra thought gently _but he is still my kin and I will not see him dead._ Jory followed Lyarra as she walked around the camp, eyes weary as they crossed paths of those she did not favor; namely one. _Ramsey Snow_ even in her thoughts the name made her stomach churn, tales had spread of the Bolton bastard ever since he had arrived. Roose Bolton, head of the Bolton men and Lord of the Dreadfort was a plain man with a beardless face and shoulder length hair was apparently this man’s Father. Lyarra looked at Ramsey now and the bastard looked back at her, he was an ugly young man with a thick of black hair. Ramsey gave Lyarra a wet-lipped smile that made her skin crawl before she quickly turned and left.

In his tent Robb was washing himself of the day’s battle, blood had caked under his fingernails and the look of them made his stomach clench in disgust. In a quick move to put his fingers in his water basin he accidentally knocked it to the ground, water splashed against the furs that covered some of the floor.

“Seven hells!” He swore vehemently, throwing his hands up in the air; to his surprise the air remained still around him. He had half expected to hear Lyarra’s laughter from the tent flap, but she was not there. They had not spoken for almost a full week, and before that it had been longer. Their Father had given Lyarra his permission to stay and Robb had opposed, but their Father was still Lord of Winterfell, and his word was the word of the North.

After he had sent for another basin of water to be sent he sat on the end of his bed and rubbed his temples. He had killed many men today, some good, and some bad. _Am I allowed to think that?_ He wondered what his Father thought when he had been in Robert’s Rebellion, but he doubted his Father let the thoughts haunt him.   _I wonder if Lyarra sees their faces_ he added, remembering how he had looked upon the hills today and seen a brief glimpse of fire in the trees that could only be his sisters’ hair. He hadn’t approved, when he had first found out. _But Jory wouldn’t let any harm come to her, least he himself had already died trying to prevent it._

In the midst of the camp Lyarra had made her way over to a familiar face; Jon Umber or Smalljon Umber stood beside a campfire, his clothes still bloodied he chatted happily with the daughter of his liege Lord. Smalljon found the girl irresistible when it came to her companionship; as he thought most men of the camp would. he knew he could have a whore here or there but they all bore the same tired look, in place of that tired look Lyarra always seemed to be wondering, or wandering. The girl spoke with the manners of a man half the time and he wondered if her lady mother would have her tongue if she should hear how she spoke. When they had first met Lyarra had surprised him by jutting her chin out at him, a crooked grin on her face. _You’re smaller than I thought you would be_ she had joked, and the two had laughed along with the Greatjon. The lady did not attend meetings with her brother but chose to introduce herself to the many gathered Lords in her own time. Right now Lyarra sat on a tree stump beside him in riding clothes, a dagger on her hip that told those who approached to be wary. Although the Smalljon had seen the Lady Stark with her bow and thought it would be better if she showed that skill off to ward enemies away.

“Anyway” Lyarra was finishing a story about two whores she had seen sneaking around the Red Keep in Kings Landing. “I should let you wash, you smell like horse dung. Or worse”

“Or worse” Smalljon agreed with a rueful grin. “Good day my Lady, I will no doubt see you later.”

In her tent Lyarra found Robb sitting on one of her seats, when Jory saw him he withdrew to the outside without so much as a word. Robb looked up from a sword he held in his hands, it’s steel looked newly forged, but too small for his hands.

“Is this a peace offering?” Lyarra asked with a frown, not moving any closer.

“Among other things” Robb answered softly, he set the blade upon the table and pulled a bow from behind the chair; how she had not noticed it she couldn’t fathom. The frame was bone white which could mean it was made from only one material; weirwood. Despite her previous frown Lyarra strode forward and took the bow from Robb’s hands, her face a mask of awe and wonder.

“It is beautiful” she said breathlessly, her mind wandered back to stories she had read of Wildlings wielding such instruments and the _Bloodraven_ , Bryden Rivers for he too was said to have had a weirwood bow. The smoothness of the bow sent shivers down her spine and for a long moment Lyarra forgot she wasn’t alone. When she looked up Robb watched her with an odd expression. “Thank you”

“Do you see the faces of those you kill?” The question was so odd that Lyarra felt a laugh rise in her stomach, she quelled it quickly before replying.

“I am never close enough to _see_ their faces, brother.”

“Would you like to be?”

“Close enough to see their faces?” Robb nodded and Lyarra considered it. “I… I would like to be closer to help _end this_ I don’t want to see their faces any more than the next. I don’t _like_ killing, I do it to protect our people and _you._ ”

“I don’t need your protection” Robb’s voice took on the coldness she had become accustom to then and she felt the rejection as keen as her new blades

“Well you have it” Lyarra said stubbornly, laying the weirwood bow upon her bed. “You don’t have a choice, brother. I would die for you without being asked, I would throw myself at the enemy to distract them if it meant that you would live!” her anger began to rise and Robb felt it as he always did, he rose to his feet. “I am keeping my promise to you Robb Stark, I am the same girl you left back in Winterfell; but she has grown and learnt new tricks to keep us safe and now she stands before me. Why are you so ashamed of me?”

“Ashamed” Robb repeated, it was not a question. “How could I be ashamed of you?” he shook his head. “I am _afraid_ for you Lyarra, everything you do is what should be done by a _man_ to seven hells with your reasons. I am supposed to keep you safe, not the other way around.” Lyarra watched him closely as he spoke “When we left Kings Landing I felt more alive than I had in the past two years before _I_ was keeping you safe, I was protecting you from harm and you _let_ me.”

“Is that what you need, to feel like you are in control of me?” Lyarra barked a harsh laugh. “We are supposed to be one! How can we be one if you continuously treat me like a delicate flower?”

“I don’t know” Robb replied honestly, “I don’t know if we can ever be as one again after all that has happened.” The words wounded Lyarra more than she wanted to admit. _I love him still_ she growled at herself as tears leapt to her eyes. “But if we are going to be in this camp together, you’ll need to know more than how to shoot an arrow.” _Hence the sword_ Lyarra thought, she turned away and waited for him to leave before going back to the bow on her bed.

 _I have not felt this alone since he left for Kings Landing_ she thought mournfully; _but at least then I knew where we stood._ Now things seemed odder than ever, Robb had left the light blade crafted for her hands alone at the foot of the chair he had sat upon. Instead of going to claim it Lyarra left it there and went to her bed where she lay, her hands ever tracing the smoothness of the weirwood bow.


	16. Reunited

_The silver haired man took her hand as he always did, his palms calloused from wielding a sword for most his life brought her more comfort than anything else these days. War raged around her in the waking world and this did naught but encourage her to sleep. Wounds healed better when she slept, she felt her hip now, her pale hand going to rest on it where she knew stitches waited to be checked; yet there were none. Not in this place. He looked upon her now, eyes more beautiful and fearsome than anything she had ever encountered before. Tonight they stood upon a great ice wall that was guarded by black cloaked figures_ the Night’s Watch _Lyarra told herself, and her mind was suddenly aware of eyes watching her, dark eyes, black eyes. Jon Snow stood on her other side now, but when he reached for her hand it was cold as ice._

She woke with a gasp, she had risen in her bed and Ula now growled at the foot of her bed. In the doorway a figure stood but it was familiar. _Jory_ Lyarra thought, all the fright soon faded from her body.

“Is everything okay my Lady?” the man asked, his hand rested on his sword.

“Yes” Lyarra said despite the ache in her side. She reached for her water skin and after she took a few sips she continued. “It is just the dreams, again.” There was no point lying, Jory had been around long enough to know that they followed her. “You ought to go to sleep Jory. Dawn will be here soon and I promise that Ula will not let anybody harm me.” As if in response Ula growled low and menacing.

It was not as if Lyarra hadn’t told Jory not to worry about her during the night, as long as Ula was there, nobody would dare try and sneak up on her. One of Ramsey Snow’s stupid hounds had been sniffing around one night and Ula had almost torn the creature in two, its cries waking Lyarra instantly. She had gone out to investigate only to find it dead and a few men gathered. Ramsey had sworn he had not known the hound was out of the kennel but something on the bastards face had indicated he was lying. Nonetheless Lyarra had returned to bed and since no hounds nor humans had been killed because of Ula, at least none inside the camp. Two days previous she had wandered all too close and had been caught in crossfire between some of the fleeing soldiers and their pursuers, Robb’s eyes had been on her for the briefest moment before she felt the arrow pierce her leather tunic. _Fool_ she had thought, Robb had warned her to wear the armour that had been made for her. The foul string of words that escaped her lips had been awful, she had cringed after she came back to camp at the thought of it. However the memory that lingered most was the feel of her steel ripping through a man’s flesh, she had only killed one and he hadn’t been the one to stick her with an arrow. Ula had dealt with him and more, her muzzle had been covered in blood and gore but Lyarra had allowed her to nuzzle her hand nonetheless. Once Jory had left she found herself unable to return to sleep, plagued by memories and dreams she instead she dressed in her riding clothes and brushed her hair. Unable to leave her tent she settled for lightly swinging her sword in formations that Jory had taught her.

By the time dawn did arrive Lyarra’s arms and body were awake from her gentle practise, she often found herself _dancing_ in the style that Syrio had been teaching her sister in Kings Landing and she found it helped her wake when she was halfway between wakefulness and sleep. To her surprise Jory was not waiting for her at the front of her tent, Ula however did not seem to notice and instead the two walked towards Robb’s tent. After they arrived and were permitted entrance Lyarra began to notice a change in the atmosphere. Where once there had only been tense expressions and guarded faces there were the odd smile, as though some of the warriors had finally been permitted a breath out. Robb didn’t look up from the letter he was reading when Lyarra entered yet she had not truly expected him too. Robb too wore an expression of ease on his face this morning and after he silently handed the letter to Lyarra she understood why. _We are going home_ the thought caught her so off guard that she gasped audibly, the letter simply stated that the King had reached an agreement with the Lannister Queen and that there would be a feast to celebrate the end of conflict. After the feast Lyarra would marry the Prince in the Sept of Baelor and her sisters would be going to Dorne to meet with some Lord named Doran with the prospect of their marriage to Trystane Martell or his oldest brother. _So far from home_ Lyarra thought painfully, _at least the conflict is done_ she pushed the rest to the back of her mind. The letter was written plainly in her Father’s hand, and she wondered if he had written to each Lord himself, to thank them for their loyalty and effort towards the cause. _The cause_ Lyarra frowned, unsure what that cause was completely.

Robb watched Lyarra through the entire process, his eyes not once leaving her eyes. Her bright grey eyes that now looked so filled with pleasure that he wanted to embrace her; to share her joy. _But I cannot_ he thought to himself unhappily _we are no longer innocent children, she deserves a throne, not be exiled._ And she would be exiled, he knew. If she married the Prince and somebody discovered them the Prince would have her killed at worst, and exiled and best. What would Lyarra do in the Free Cities? For all the knowledge she harboured in her brain Robb believed that his sister would be truly helpless without the North. Lyarra’s eyes flicked to him then, stealing his thoughts away from him and making his mind silent.

“Father will not come South with us” she stated, it was not a question.

“He is still healing, the boys will stay with him in Winterfell; some of the Lords will return home and the rest of us will feast with the King and his Queen before….” Robb seemed to not have completely digested the rest of the letter, Lyarra could not blame him.

“Princess Elia was from Dorne,” she tried, “they say she was of a gentle disposition.” Robb half smiled and imagined how happy it would make Sansa to be surrounded by ladies like herself. _But Arya?_ He asked himself, he was not so sure.

“Indeed” he replied instead of outing his thoughts. “And you, will you be happy to return to court?” Lyarra’s forehead creased in annoyance.

“If that is supposed to be a joke, it isn’t very funny.”

“No” Robb said, smiling despite himself. “I don’t suppose it is.” When he looked to Lyarra he saw that her face too had softened despite herself.

“Have any young ladies caught your attention yet brother? Or are you determined to let Father choose for all of us?”

“Aye, only one lady has managed to catch my attention.” A stab of pain etched itself in Lyarra’s heart at his words. “Yet she will marry a Prince, and there is nothing I can do about it.”

“Oh,” Lyarra was breathless, neither had spoken so brashly in so long. Not even in Kings Landing had they spoken so. “Perhaps you should join the Kings Guard, to ensure that she is always safe.”

“Like Aemon the Dragonknight?”

“Yes, just like Aemon and Naerys” Lyarra heard the plead in her voice and felt ashamed, quickly she turned and strode from the tent without another word. Outside she breathed deep breaths of cool air to steady herself. _You are a fool, Lyarra Stark._

***

Lyarra could not recall a moment she had felt as relieved as she did when she saw her Mother and sisters riding in a caravan towards their latest camp. They were not far from the Twins now, where Robert would meet the Starks and the company would continue on towards Harrenhal, a small tourney would be had in which Cersei Lannister and her Father Tywin would feast with the King to put their differences behind them. Margaery Tyrell was back in Highgarden and betrothed to some man Lyarra had never heard of _for all the conflict she and her family has caused she is lucky to have lived at all._

Arya was the first to greet Lyarra, the girl almost jumped from the caravan, ignoring her skirts as she ran towards her and the pair embraced. A thousand questions on her sisters tongue that Lyarra knew she could not answer rung in her ears. Then her Mother came forward, stepping elegantly from the carriage and smiling gently towards her. _How long has it been?_ Lyarra wondered, but she couldn’t tell how long she had been here, nor in Kings Landing anymore. It all felt as though her time since leaving Winterfell was no more than a single day, and in that single day the entirety of it all had blurred together. A hand on her shoulder brought Lyarra back to the present, an overcast day overhead that threatened rain.

Catelyn Stark looked at her first born child, hard. Lyarra didn’t look as _young_ to her Mother, for lack of a better word she looked like a woman grown. Something itched at the edge of her thoughts, a memory she couldn’t quite grasp when Lyarra’s eyes turned back to her Mother and she smiled. The smile was genuine and Catelyn felt such warmth for her in that moment.

Robb greeted the girls and their Mother as Lyarra had expected: with a mask. She may have become a challenge to her brother but Robb seemed almost a completely different person. His tired eyes betrayed him when Catelyn saw him, yet she ignored them for the girl’s sake. Lyarra watched with curiosity as Robb hugged the girls and mussed Arya’s hair in a way that she had seen Jon do many times. _Jon_ Lyarra thought the name for the first time since her dream, she recalled the day he had left and that was it. Now however, she wondered what Jon would do if he was here with Robb, with them both. Jon had been just as skilled with a blade as Robb and the two had been close, perhaps closer than Robb was to any of his other brothers. _Because they are young_ Lyarra told herself, but still she wondered if Jon would have handled this conflict as Robb had, would he have pushed her away too? Was it possible for Jon and Lyarra to be any more separate than they had been for the two years between their incident and now? Lyarra shook the thoughts aside and went to follow the girls from the tent so that their Mother could have a moment alone with Robb.

“Lyarra” Catelyn said softly, “won’t you stay for a moment please?”  Lyarra turned and looked at her Mother with a cautious gaze. “I haven’t seen you…” her voice trailed off and Lyarra smiled.

“I have no news that Robb can’t tell you of,” suddenly she was aware of her Mother’s disapproval, the way her eyes lingered on her wound and for the first time Lyarra found she didn’t care what her Mother thought, her disapproval had followed each and every one of the moments she enjoyed the most; whether it be swordplay or love. Her Mother didn’t understand, she was a Lady at three and her love had _grown_ for their Father, where Lyarra had been born with it. She could not remember a time where she hadn’t loved Robb and doubted there would be a time she could deny it. Whether they be doomed or not, she did not care. She did not care at all. She would fight with a bow, kill with a sword and when she was Queen she would be a kind, merciful one. _No matter what the seer said_ she told herself as she strode from the tent _no matter what anybody says, I will be true to myself._


	17. The Twins

The twins stood before them, two identical stone castles with high curtain walls, deep moats and portcullis in each. Between them a strong bridge arched large enough for two wagons to cross abreast. Robb rode at the head of the column, beside him his Mother rode too. Lyarra was back with the girls, uncertainty laced the linings of her gut but Robb had waved her worries away; he had spent numerous days and nights speaking with his Mother and the Lords that it left no time for them to truly talk. Arya and Sansa quickly became Lyarra’s priority, if she wasn’t with Sansa, Arya and Syrio called for Lyarra’s attention. The Braavosi man was the same as ever, small and confusing. On one such day after Lyarra had finished sitting and talking with Sansa she found Arya and Syrio dancing just outside their camp at the top of a hill. At first she watched from a distance as Arya danced back and forth with her small sword. From behind Lyarra could almost imagine that it was herself, yet Arya’s hair was brown where Lyarra’s was auburn. Syrio saw her first and lifted his sword in greeting after unarming Arya of her own.

“My Lady” he said in greeting, bowing his head as Lyarra came to the top of the hill. “You’re late.”

“I am always late” Lyarra said with a tiny smile that Arya returned.

Syrio and Lyarra took a turn to dance together, their swords rung like bells each time they glanced off one another. Arya watched with curious eyes, Lyarra moved differently that Syrio, each time his blade glanced off hers she caught him again and again but it wasn’t _aggressive_ no matter how many times her sisters blade was pushed from its target she didn’t seem to mind. _Is this what it was like?_ Arya wondered, her Mother and Father had been sparse with their details about what Robb was doing North of Winterfell no matter how much she asked. Lyarra looked back at her little sister for the briefest moment and Syrio unarmed her, she was quick to laugh at her flaws, her mistakes and quicker to learn. 

"Can I not smile at my sister?" 

"Not unless you want to die" Syrio had replied, his sword gently touching the space just below her left breast. " _dead"_ he murmured with a humorous smile. 

***

Lyarra entered the Great Hall where Walder Frey waited to greet them, all around him his children sat, various sons, daughters and those born from them too. Each and every one watched in silence as the Northerners entered, the King was yet to arrive and would not until the following week. _They are all so plain._ The Lord of the Crossing sat on his chair, his skin hung loose and he was bald and toothless. When he spoke his voice was prickly with a form of annoyance. He greeted Robb and his Mother with words of arrogance before the group disbanded to form a camp on the Southmost part of the Twins. Lyarra did not fail to notice the way many of the male Frey’s eyes watched her younger sister Sansa. By the time she reached the tent that had been raised for her Lyarra felt her head began to ache, all these people brought her only distrust and confusion. _Why can I not go ahead?_ She had asked Robb when they had been too far from others to be heard, he had told her nothing but _it is our Fathers choice._ That was it, and _it_ infuriated her. The Prince surely waited ahead and the sooner they were reunited the sooner they would be married and she could forget about the things she had done, done and hoped.

Servants brought her the first bath she had seen in two moon turns, grateful she waited only a moment before they were gone to rip off her riding gear and submerge herself in the boiling water. Immediately it turned her skin red but she ducked her head beneath the scalding heat despite the discomfort. When she finally rose she was breathless but elated, the hot water made her feel clean and new again. Slowly she washed her skin and hair, relishing in the smell of oils and scrubs alike. The smell of lavender clung to her hair and Lyarra found herself exploring her body as she had begun to in Kings Landing. The delicate nub between her legs was more sensitive after a day of riding then she recalled it ever being in the Red Keep, with gentle motions she coaxed herself into a relaxed state in which she found herself thinking of the day that Robb had taken her virtue.

_Lyarra stood in her room watching as the servants left her chambers. Her Mother had just scolded her about Robb, for the first and last time. She scolded the serving boy too, Arthur. Sweet Arthur who had danced with her on one of her namedays and died for his concern. Sweet Arthur. He had called her by her name, without Lady attached to it so her Mother had told him not to, afterwards her Mother left wordlessly. Lyarra turned to her bath and watched the steam rise, she would be alone until the evening meal and in that time –_

_“Your heart is so deeply affected by?” The sound of Robb’s voice made Lyarra start, her eyes wide with concern as she turned to see Robb standing by the window ledge. She had frowned at him, had he no shame? “What does that mean?” he looked wounded._

_“You need to leave, Robb” she had replied sternly. “That was not the end of this. Father will likely send me away” she sniffed back her grief and turned away only to hear Robb approach. When she glanced back at him he was shaking his head softly._

_“He will send me away, to be fostered as he was fostered with Jon Arryn and King Robert himself.” Lyarra now shook her head, trying to convince herself that he was lying. “Lyarra” Robb’s voice was gentle but it cut to the quick. “He has told me as much himself…”_

_“Nonsense” Lyarra bit back breathlessly, “this is… this is your home” Robb did not reply immediately, he too had told his Father as much and it was true. Winterfell was his home too._

_“As it is yours. He will want to speak with you soon and you must assure him that it was my doing.”_ It _the way he said it made his stomach twist in knots, he loved Lyarra and he was not ashamed. Yet the way his Father spoke of it made him feel guilty; ashamed._

_“That what was your doing?” Lyarra asked, a frown creasing her brows. When he didn’t answer immediately she repeated the question._

_“This” Robb answered quietly, closing the space between them in a few short strides. “But before that, can you do me a favour?”_

_“Anything” Lyarra said breathlessly as Robb took her chin in his hand and angled her face towards him. “Anything”_

_“Anything?” Robb asked, raising an eyebrow in comical curiosity. Lyarra broke then, a laugh escaped her that turned into a heart wrenching sob. Robb’s expression immediately changed and he wrapped his arms around her, as though to protect her from the harm he had caused her. “My sweet Lyarra” he cooed, as though he were the older brother and she the wounded younger sister. “Please don’t cry”_

_“I don’t want you to go” Lyarra whined into his chest, she looked up from it then and Robb wiped a tear off her cheek gently. He reached down then and she on her tiptoes found his mouth. So gentle and light was it against her own._

_No more words paused between them._ We don’t need them _Lyarra told herself, they were one and nobody could break that bond. No matter what they tried. Robb lifted her into his arms, lightly muscled from his training she found herself pull him tighter against her, her legs wrapped about his waist. He set her down on the bed and Lyarra watched as he silently went to the door and pulled the latch down as quietly as he could manage. Returning he climbed above her, his hand tracing the line of her hips to her breasts until a tiny noise escaped her. Amused, Robb looked at Lyarra. Her face had gone scarlet as soon as his eyes had found hers and she smiled a giddy, unashamed smile._ All for me _Robb thought, elated that she loved him thus. All too quickly he pulled her skirts up and found the place between her thighs, he had of course seen whores, he had even kissed a few but he didn’t_ want _them. Robb felt no stirrings for the women and he wondered how Theon found them so amusing. Lyarra’s eyes were wide when he looked up to her but she didn’t stop him from feeling the wet spot between her thighs, her fingers dug into his shoulders as he felt her, explored her with his fingers. Inside his breeches he felt himself stiffen._ This is what is supposed to feel like _he told himself. Lyarra felt the heat too, in her stomach it felt like she was on fire._

In her bath Lyarra let a gentle moan escape her as she reached climax, her whole body trembled as she tethered over the edge of pleasure into ecstasy. Her breathing was ragged when she heard words, strange words, all too close to her.

“I thought you were a lady, not a whore.” Lyarra’s eyes snapped open and she looked to her right to see that Ramsey Snow had somehow gotten into her tent from the back. _Had he been here the whole time?_ She felt herself flush scarlet now too, however unlike in her memories it was now with shame.

“Get out” she growled, low and fearsome. The girl from her memories may still be a part of her but Lyarra was not about to let some baseborn pervert have his way with her. _In any way._

“Are you sure?” Ramsey asked, her toyed with a small knife that Lyarra was almost sure that he had found in one of her discarded boots. Despite her initial anger Lyarra felt her body give way to fear, the bastard of Bolton had disgusting rumours floating around about him and she was not prepared to participate in the makings of another.

“I am certain” Lyarra growled and before Ramsey could protest she called out for help, her voice high and wavering to fear; she didn’t care. In less than a moment Jory was inside the tent along with oddly enough, Sansa.

“My Lady!” Jory cried, diverting his eyes from the bath in time to see Ramsey’s feet disappearing on the opposite side of the tent. He quickly left through the front entrance and chased Ramsey down.

“Are you okay?” Sansa asked, moving closer despite the look of fright on her face. Lyarra smiled warmly at her before nodding.

“I did not mean to frighten you,” Lyarra said softly, but if Sansa minded she did not say.

Not an hour later Lyarra stood before Robb, his newly arranged tent was much grander than his last and she felt oddly spurned for it. Their Lady Mother was also in attendance, ever watchful of the twins and their interactions. Jory too stood in the room alongside Roose Bolton and his bastard. Ramsey was watching her without wanting to hide it; Robb noticed first and felt his anger rise, not as high as it had when he had heard what the bastard had done but still, high enough.

“Before we begin” Roose said in his sly manner, his eyes slid between each of the gathered but not once did they touch Ramsey’s figure. “I put my bastard to your full mercy. The Boltons are loyal to the North, Ramsey is not a Bolton. Do with him as you will” Lyarra wondered if he meant it or was merely trying to placate what his son had done.

“Thank you” the words came from Robb’s mouth but were not said in a voice that belonged to her brother. It was an angry voice, a voice that belonged to a man who not once looked away from Ramsey. “I think that your _son_ has shown nothing but destruction since he came here. More than one whore has gone missing in his company. He unsettles the men and has now taken it upon himself to enter my sister’s tent without her permission.” Roose was silent, his expression never changed. It was Catelyn Stark who drew Lyarra’s attention. Her Mother watched Robb with an odd expression of something she could only describe as scorn. _Why would she scorn him for this?_ It was true. Ramsey had taken girls for walks they never returned from, common whores they may have been but they were still _people._ His hounds barked far too often, and he did set the men on edge. _And he was in my tent Mother,_ she wanted to growl _as though he had a right to it, to_ me. “What do you want to be done Lyarra?” Robb asked all of a sudden.

“I want him to die” Lyarra was certain of this, she had been certain since he had first looked at her with that wet lipped smile. Ramsey Snow was a pervert and a killer _and not the good kind, if there is such a thing_ Lyarra added inwardly.

“Lyarra!” Catelyn Stark scolded, but the words were already said and Roose seemed… _relieved_ as though she had done him a favour by suggesting his son die. Robb’s eyes finally left Ramsey’s to look at his sister, her face was drawn into another of her masks.

“How?” Robb asked, and felt more than saw his Mother’s eyes flick to him in disbelief. Lyarra’s eyes turned to Robb and for a long moment she looked lost. _I don’t know_ her eyes told him _I have only killed one man… many men with arrows and one… one with a sword._

 _“_ I will do it,” if it was a test she wasn’t going to fail it.

It didn’t take long for Robb to inform the other Lords, most seemed to be relieved as Roose had been, but some didn’t seem to care at all. By the time Lyarra stood dressed in her leather tunic and riding pants she was afraid. She would fight Ramsey and if she was losing somebody else would end him; she was sure of it. Yet she didn’t want to be humiliated. _I caused this_ she repeated to herself, not for the first time as she watched Ramsey choose a weapon. He choose a two handed sword and Lyarra cursed. She was best with a bow, not this sword Robb had given her. _Am I supposed to dance my way out of this?_ It was too late to change her mind, Ramsey was walking to the area of grass they had cleared for them. A man spoke briefly, his words humiliating for the bastard but it made the men laugh, when he spoke to Lyarra she didn’t have the stomach to answer with words. A curt nod sufficed.

Ramsey was not quick, a lumbering giant more than a head taller than her yet Lyarra had to jump quickly out of the way. Her mind chaos, she had never fought like this. _Is this a lesson?_ She wondered, wanting to search the crowd for Robb. She refrained herself. It went on with Ramsey striking and Lyarra evading until she grew very still, her breathing fast from moving, twisting and averting the bastard at every turn. Her muscles ached from the blows she had glanced off with the tiny blow. From the crowd Robb watched, Theon by his side, a bow in his hand and aimed at the bastard. Lyarra was tired and the light was beginning to fade and he knew her time was up. No amount of graceful evasion would win her this battle. Ramsey was too big, too strong. When Lyarra saw this, Theon releasing the bowstring she felt a surge of shame well through her entire body.

“No!” she shouted and threw up her left arm to catch the arrow, which to her dismay actually _worked._ The arrowhead went straight through her forearm, so close to where Ula had bitten her. The crowd grew silent, confused as Lyarra moved quicker now, blood dripped down into her fingers, making them sticky. When Ramsey went for her this time she danced around him and although it was not brave or strong, the feeling of her sword going through the bastards back gave her great relief. “I am not a warrior” she whispered as Ramsey slumped to the grassy earth, a dull moan escaping his lips. “I am not a warrior” she drew herself up in time to see Theon and Robb coming to her side, from the fray she could see Arya too, her little face no longer hidden behind bodies. _You should not be here_ her brother would have said, but Lyarra smiled a soft and gentle smile before letting Robb escort her back to his tent.

The arrow piercing her flesh had been much more bearable that the action of taking it out. Theon did it, _of all people_ Lyarra had no dark place in her mind for Theon but he was not her favourite person either. The highborn captive was a man now, a man that had led whores hither and tither for all his life it seemed. _What was his purpose?_ She wanted to ask, would he ever marry? Who _could_ he marry? Theon was heir to the Iron Islands, his brothers had died trying to give their Father a throne. _What was his purpose?_ She looked at him now, not for the first time she noticed how handsome he was. Theon was of a lean and dark disposition. His vanity was obvious in his clothing, his arrogance and his obvious pride in wounding _others._ Theon was not cruel, he was not mad; he simply _was._ Lyarra had heard Jeyne Poole gushing about him on various occasions, but Theon’s eyes never fell to that particular girl. _Just the rest of the North_ Lyarra mused as one of Robb’s attendants began to stitch up the hole left in her arm.

Soon afterwards Robb dismissed all of the men in his tent, and their Mother. Catelyn Stark had been silent as a stone watching her daughter play at war. It was not the first time she had seen it and could not pretend that the arrow was not a lesson Lyarra had forced upon herself. Yet Catelyn had heard from Robb how she fought and felt no shame to know that her daughter hid in trees; when Robb dismissed her she gave him one lingering glance before disappearing into the darkness with the rest of them. Robb looked at Lyarra now, pale and shaking from the cold but with an odd expression on her face as she regarded her latest wound.

“How is your hip?” Robb asked lightly, moving to sit on the end of his bed where he began the tiresome task of removing his boots and breastplate. He had only worn it to show respect to the Freys, yet he wished he hadn’t had to.

“Healing, the stitches will be out in two days time.” Robb nodded and fiddled with his boot until he got the left one off. “I know that was stupid” Lyarra added quickly. “Ramsey could have been hanged or beheaded, but I had to prove myself. I wouldn’t have to do it if you acted like you respected me. The Smalljon respects me, why cant you?”

“Do you really think he respects you?” Robb asked, Lyarra flushed as she understood his meaning.

“I do” she said curtly. “I think a lot of the men respect _and_ like me. Why is it so hard for you to understand that I am more than _just_ a woman, just your sister?”

“I never said I didn’t understand those things, Lya” Robb’s voice was tired and Lyarra turned to him. “I understand them more than most which is why I worry so much. How many of those men would like to see their wives, sisters, mothers on that battlefield?” When Lyarra hesitated he continued. “None, the answer is none. Nobody wants to see the people they love die.”

“You’re right” Lyarra agreed, “ _nobody_ wants to see the people they love die. Least of all they don’t want to wait and wait until some Lord brings them news of your death, of the Greatjon, or Lord Karstark. Do you think Cersei Lannister is dancing to the sound of musicians in Casterly Rock? Do you not think that if she could have she would have fought with her son?” Lyarra shook her head. “Nobody wants to see the people they love die, but at least men get that choice. _You_ have that choice, Mother didn’t and neither did Aunty Lyanna. I won’t wait for you to return from a war that could kill you no more than I will let it kill me.” Lyarra stood gingerly. “I am not a warrior Robb” her voice was soft and Robb turned to look upon her with his blue Tully eyes. “But if nobody teaches me how to fight, how will I protect the ones I love?”


	18. The Twins Pt. 2

_She did not want to be in these dreams. Her breath was hot and tasted of blood. She could smell the enemy, ever approaching yet she did not know how she knew they_ were _her enemy. She had been gone for days now._ Where am I? _She asked herself, but the question could not be answered for she did not know. Her mistress was afraid, she could sense it. Yet she could not reach her, could not smell her for she was too far away. The sound of hooves alerted her to company but all men looked the same to her, the riders faces were a blur. The horses on the other hand, they could smell her. They whined and skited in fear when she followed them, alerting the men to her presence._

Lyarra shook herself awake, her eyes wide with fright yet she was silent. Least she alert Jory to another one of her foolish wolf dreams. _Wolf dreams_ that was what she had begun to call them, and that is how they made sense to her. Ula had gone out one day and not come back _she cannot have gone far_ Smalljon Umber had said in an all too soothing voice _how can anybody miss that beast anyway?_ But somehow they had; everybody had and Ula had not returned to any of their camps. Since then Lyarra had dreamt of her; _through her._ She sat up and surveyed the room, it hadn’t felt like she had slept for long and by the look of the dimness in her tent she doubted she had been asleep for more than two hours. Nonetheless Lyarra rose and stretched before going to the chest that held her weirwood bow. Opening the lid soundlessly she lifted the bow into her arms as though it were as delicate as a newborn babe. Tracing lines along the expertly crafted weapon Lyarra began to let her mind wander once more, safe within the waking world. Outside the confines of her tent the sounds of men drifted, their words incoherent in their merriment as they drunk and whored themselves to sleep. The type of peace that radiated through the camp felt fragile to her, the men were much the same without the bloodied swords and dented armour. Who were they? Who would they go home to? Their liege lords would return to their families and children in the North, but what of the hedge knights, the lowborn men who wanted glory from battle? _Where would they go_? Lyarra shrugged subconsciously at the question, unsure if it truly had an answer. She set the bow back in its chest and shut the lid gently, soundlessly, before moving to the tent flap. Fire lamps illuminated her surroundings and whilst they cast their shadows and appeared to warm the atmosphere, yet as she walked out to stand in view of the full moon Lyarra felt nothing but the cold. Her breath misted before her and she was quick to wrap her arms about her frame. Her arms felt harder now, _stronger_ she told herself as she tried to warm herself with gentle rubbing motions to her shoulders.

“My Lady?” Jory’s voice was but a whisper on the wind, when Lyarra turned to him she saw his tired eyes and felt the old guilt that reappeared when she remembered that those tired eyes were her own doing. “You should not be out here, it is too cold.” _Too cold for what you are wearing_ he wanted to say, but he dared not speak the words out loud. Too often of late had she been arguing with her family; he wanted no part in the animosity.

“I couldn’t sleep” her lie was smooth but Lyarra doubted Jory believed her; too often had he rushed in on her nightmares.

The two stood side by side for a quiet moment before Lyarra turned to enter her tent again, a gaze passed between herself and Jory before she bid him a quiet goodnight and all but flew to her bed, bare feet barely touching the ground as she leapt towards the furs. No sooner had she wrapped some of her blankets about her shoulders did Jory enter through the tent flap.

“Have you been dreaming again?” He asked, already knowing the answer. When Lyarra nodded he waited for her to grant him entry to the tent and went about finding a place to sit. Eventually he settled himself on the chair opposite her bed, the dainty sword Robb had given her was discarded on the fur rug beneath. Ramsey Snow’s blood still stained the blade. “Have you spoken to anybody about these dreams?” Jory’s voice was soft as he spoke, and he raised his eyes to meet Lyarra’s gaze.

“Who would I tell?” She wondered out loud, before Jory could answer she continued. “My Mother wants me safe and Robb wants me _gone,_ out of here at least. The only person I want to speak to is my Father but he is far away and…” her voice trailed off, she did not know what Eddard Stark’s condition was and she dared not ask her Mother in fear of a lecture.

“What about your sisters, my Lady?”

“I had not thought to ask them if they too are plagued by dreams, but even so – they seem fine.” Lyarra shrugged;

“You seem fine, every day you wake, eat and do all the things you have always done.”

“I do not think these are the _exact_ same things that I have always done.” Jory smiled gently, looking down at his hands tiredly Lyarra wondered if he had meant it as a joke or not, either way the words brought a smile to her lips. “You should go to sleep, Jory”

“And leave you to the wolves?” He hadn’t meant the words to be so literal yet as soon as they left his lips he understood their truth. Lyarra studied him then, her face lingering on his for a long moment, taking in his deep brown eyes and shoulder length hair. Jory _looked_ like the North, she thought sadly. _He doesn’t belong here._

Soon afterwards Jory dismissed himself from his ladies chambers and made his way back out into the cold. He knew he needed the sleep, what damage could come to Lyarra here? _Of all the places_ he thought, thinking back to the morning he had found her covered in mud and the blood of the steward’s son. The boy’s name skipped Jory’s memory but the sight of young Lyarra Stark cradling him in the dirt haunted Jory more than he liked to remember. He had just been ushering a whore from the castle when he stepped outside to gather his thoughts when he had seen her little figure; at first he had thought it was nothing. However the closer Jory got the more he felt his stomach clench, his entire being seemed to shut down when he saw her there. He had watched her for a moment, watching as she stared down wide eyed and silent at the boy’s face. Lyarra had been pale, but not as pale as the dead that rested on her lap. When he ran to her side she just sniffed, snot had dried beneath her nose and she had looked so young in that moment, sometimes it was hard for him to remember just how young she was when she played with wooden swords with her brothers. When Jory reached down Lyarra’s skin was ice cold, but what startled him more was the determination she seemed to have with staying with the boy’s body. _I can’t, he can’t he alone_ how she had managed the words behind her sobbing amazed him. Despite her protests Jory lifted her bodily and carried her back away; she was light and easy enough to carry despite her weak attempts to escape his hold.

Jory hesitated outside her tent flap then, remembering how vulnerable his lady had been made him nervous to leave her. If Winterfell hadn’t kept her safe then where in the world could? If Lord Eddard couldn’t protect her, then who in the world could? Disregarding his fatigue Jory once again took up post, refusing to leave his lady to any possible dangers that may await her at the twins. _I can do that at least_ he told himself as a heavy weight set inside his heart as he thought ahead to the following moons in which they would be separated. He had grown fond of the girl; not that he hadn’t been found of her beforehand. He had known Lyarra since she was eight, having come into her Father’s household guard at that time. She had been a quick youth that often had her parents chasing after her. She had grown into an intriguing woman; where her sister Sansa was all polite elegance and beauty Lyarra was not. Her manners failed her on a lot of occasions as Jory thought back on various nameday celebrations both hers and her siblings. That was not to say that Lyarra was without her pleasantries; she was kind and curious and had an interesting knack for stories. If there was anybody in the camp who hadn’t heard about the two whores she had met in the Castle at Winterfell Jory would be surprised.

***

The next morning Lyarra was summoned to Robb’s tent by one of his pages. Dressing in a murky grey gown she made her way through the camp, hair unbound and thoughts elsewhere. When she walked by a pair of matching black stallions she found herself wondering if Beron and his brother were still safe in Winterfell. Robb had sent them on with their Father and Lyarra hadn’t had the heart to argue. Aemon still lingered around the camp but she had left him in the care of her sisters in case they needed to get away fast. Why that particular thought lingered Lyarra did not know, after they had escaped Kings Landing she had been exhilarated yet confused, Robb’s strong chest had been behind her and her sisters had been so strong that day, so fearless were their facial expressions despite the confusion. Lyarra had been proud of them in that moment and wondered whether her Mother would feel the same, or make them feel ashamed for being what she may deem as careless. _Is fearlessness careless?_ Lyarra wondered as she made her way to Robb’s tent, however the answer did not come to her.

“Have you not been sleeping?” Robb asked in greeting as he noticed the dark circles beneath his sister’s eyes. In response Lyarra shrugged and walked to where Ice sat on its wolf skin. “Lyarra” Robb repeated, but again she just shrugged.

“How heavy is Ice?” she asked instead, when Robb did not reply she took the hilt and lifted the ancestral sword of house Stark without asking. _Why should I?_ She thought defensively, _am I not a Stark?_ Not to her surprise the sword was heavy to hold. It was as wide across as one and a quarter of Lyarra’s hands and nearly as tall as her. Robb watched curiously as Lyarra lifted the sword and held it before her, her face a mask of effort as she held it above ground. Ever so delicately his sister placed the sword back on its holder and sighed.

“What is this about then?” Lyarra asked, when Robb looked surprised she took a moment to wipe the sleep before her eyes before adding: “you never call me for pleasant conversations Robb Stark, last time I left here I had an arrow wound.”

“That was your own fault” Robb replied with a tiny smile “how is it?”

“Healing” Lyarra replied, looking at the three day old wound. “Don’t you find it odd that Lord Bolton hasn’t responded?”

“Responded?”

“If somebody killed Jon don’t you think that Father would care?” Lyarra said in annoyance. “Wouldn’t _you_ care?”

“Of course I would care, Jon isn’t a pervert.” _Isn’t a pervert_ Lyarra mused and for a moment she considered telling Robb what kind of man she thought Jon Snow was, what kind of a man she had seen him to be when they were youths. The moment passed quickly. “Mother says that Roose Bolton is glad to –“

“Mother says?” Lyarra scolded and for a moment Robb saw her their mother in her; perhaps for the first time in their entire lives. “We aren’t children anymore, do you really think Mother wouldn’t lie to protect us?” Robb exhaled in annoyance and Lyarra waited.

“I am getting married,” the words were so odd that the room fell silent for a very long time. Neither twin lost eye contact with the other. Robb wanted nothing more than his sister to ask him anything, _who, why_ either would do. Yet Lyarra was silent and he was left with the stricken look in her features. “King Robert has put an offer forward that would be unwise to deny, so I am getting married” he wasn’t sure whether he spoke to his sister or himself.

“Why?” Lyarra’s voice broke on the single word and Robb was forced to look away, his eyes studied the desk before him for a long moment; it was littered with letters and plans that he had either written or received these past few moons whilst away from Winterfell.

“I will be the Lord of Winterfell one day, and a Lord needs a Lady. That was how the King put it, in less words.” _Less words_ Lyarra thought blankly _somebody to give you heirs to the North, our North. My North._ She blinked back tears and found she had no words. “You had to know, with your marriage to the Prince –“

“I had to know?” Lyarra shook her head, “I _had_ to know?” she laughed a bitter laugh and rubbed her eyes with her right arm. “Who is going to be your lady then Robb?” she spat the words like they were venom.

“Myrcella Baratheon.”

“An equal trade then” Lyarra said softly. “I suppose the King wants to keep his Lannister Queen on a tighter leash now that he knows what she is capable of.” A thought stuck her then “how old is Myrcella?” Robb had the grace to flush red at the question.

“She is ten”

“Ten” Lyarra repeated emptily, _ten_ she is a child! She wanted to shout and deny his words but they were true and she no longer a child. _Grown woman do not act that way_ she told herself as her throat constricted, the weight of her sadness pushed from within her temple, as though it was going to explode. “I hope she will be everything you want” the words slipped out of her mouth before Lyarra could restrain them and the bitter sentence hit Robb like a slap.

“This isn’t about what we want.” Robb said soberly. “Do you _want_ to marry the Prince? Do you _want_ to let him worm his way inside you and make you bear _his_ children, because in case you had not noticed the _King_ rules the Kingdom. Not the Queen. Any children you bare to Joffrey will be bartered just like he and his sister have been.” His anger had risen quickly, taking Lyarra by surprise.

“Worm his way inside me?” The words were ridiculous. “Do you think the Princess wants you inside her? Do you not think she will weep on her wedding night to a man almost twice her age? What are you, Jon Arryn?” the insults continued until Robb was on his feet shouting and Lyarra was arguing back angrily.

“Is this what we have become?” Robb’s words caused a sudden silence and Lyarra narrowed her eyes at him. “We have less than a week remaining together and we are determined to show the camp how much we hate each either”

“Hate? I don’t hate you.”

“What do you feel then, to cause all this anger between us?”

“What do I…” Lyarra screwed her face up at him. “I am angry at you for treating me like a child.”

“Then why do you come here and shout like a child?”

“Would you rather I asked for a trial by combat?” Robb laughed at her words and Lyarra found herself smiling despite herself.

“I am not sorry that I treat you as I do, if I didn’t how would you know that I care for you?”

“You could show me, instead of making me feel like… _this”_ she gestured to her face, her tired beautiful face and Robb felt guilty, _how could I show you, sweet sister? When all I want to do is feel your skin against mine._

“How am I supposed to show you?”

“I am sure you can think of a way”


	19. The Twins Pt. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet, or not so quiet ending for now.

_The Narrow Sea found her once again and the salt air seemed to caress her in an almost loving way. Lyarra was alone this time, for the first time it seemed she could not find the man with fire in his eyes, nor did the land she knew to be close encroach her vision. Behind her instead stood two shadows that felt familiar as day and night, their faces were transparent in the bright morning light but warmth radiated from the smiles she knew they bore. Moving away from the rails Lyarra found herself passing through shadows of deck-hands and sailors alike; the captain’s shadow felt foul to touch so she passed it quickly without touching it. Descending into the lower levels of the ship she felt more than saw somebody following her, relief washed over her dream-self until she turned. Standing before her stood her brother, yet his skin was afire and his eyes naught but black pleading pits inside his skull._

“Robb!” Lyarra sat bolt upright, her head pounded and her skin felt clammy to touch. “Robb!” She cried again, despite the niggling feeling that reminded her that it had just been a dream. Rising to her feet she almost ran into Jory as he came rushing inside her tent, his hand twitching by the pommel of his sword as if to draw. Taking in his lady’s wild eyes Jory hesitated.

“Lyarra?” He asked, careful not to stand too close in case she was still frightened.

“I need to go see Robb” Jory didn’t hesitate this time, instead they walked together to her brothers tent; however dawn was yet to rise and Robb had to be woken.

When Lyarra entered his tent Robb’s eyes lingered tiredly on her state of dress. She wore naught but her silk night slip and her feet were bare of shoes. Wiping sleep from his eyes he waited for a moment before she spoke, her hair was mussed from sleep and her own eyes were encased with tiredness.

“I had a nightmare” the vulnerability in her voice sent Robb to her side in an instant, he took her shoulders and waited for her to continue. The past few days had been _nice_ in an pleasing way. Lyarra had spent half of those days with him, riding or hunting, talking with the lords or just talking with him. He had vowed to himself to show her that he cared for her instead of trying to protect her with hostile words. He hadn’t been surprised at how easy it was for him to fall into the old comfort of his sisters company. “You were burning,” Lyarra didn’t meet his eyes as she explained the dream.

“Have you had these dreams before?” An odd hope came forth to Robb’s centre of thought, hopeful that she too had been dreaming the curious dreams he had. Seeing through Grey Winds eyes had startled him at first but the more he did it the more comfortable he felt in his wolves’ skin.

“No,” Lyarra’s voice was quiet and Robb felt his hope diminish instantly. He could not expect his twin to experience everything as he did, and a part from that Ula was still missing.

Lyarra tucked herself into her brother’s arms and didn’t move for the longest time. The sound of his heart beat soothed her dream fears and sent her back into the lull of tiredness she had been in the previous evening when she had climbed onto her bed and set herself in furs. Sansa had been riding with them that day, her smile brought light to everybody in the camp and Lyarra wished they had more time together, wished she had given her more thought when she was growing up. _I am a selfish creature_ she had thought when she watched the Smalljon help her sister from her horse. Aemon had been beneath Lyarra then and she had been glad for his company. Robb’s eyes lingered on Lyarra as she whispered something to Aemon that he could not hear and not for the first time he wondered why his sister spent so much time talking to beasts that did not understand her. The thought caught quickly when he thought of Grey Wind, and how often he would mutter to the wolf mid-thought as though the beast were listening. When the Smalljon had asked Lyarra if she wanted help to get to the ground Robb had been surprised when she had agreed. His sister knew how to ride a horse, and _well_ by the time she was ten and two. When Smalljon grasped Lyarra’s hips to lift her down Robb had felt the familiar surge of angry jealously that he felt every time he had seen Prince Joffrey walking with his arm linked with Lyarra. _I am being ridiculous_ he thought knowingly, but the thought of somebody touching his beloved sister so intimately made his gut clench in disgust.

Robb looked to her now, her eyes were closed and her dark eyelashes curled against her cheeks. The coming day would be hard for them both, the King approached and he would be returning to Winterfell with Myrcella. He was yet to tell this to Lyarra, and he feared that the moment he did their fragile connect would once again be thrown to the wolves, so to speak. So instead of talking Robb half walked and half carried Lyarra to his bed where they lay side by side in silence until she fell to sleep. Robb watched her as she slept, the once tired circles beneath her eyes had begun to fade. He ached to touch her, to move the hair from her face or to hold her tightly against him why she slept. The old guilt surfaced then, as his thoughts went to his sister in a less than brotherly way. _Why do I love her?_ The question had been asked a thousand times, but Robb had loved her for as long as he could remember, she had always been there in their childhood. _Always_ he shut his eyes to move her from his vision but even then, his eyelids seemed to dance with memories of her. Lyarra beating Jon at swordplay, or chasing little Bran around the courtyard pretending to be a white walker until she caught him and blew raspberries on his cheeks. Robb wondered if anybody in all of Westeros had ever felt so conflicted and turned to face the other side of his tent. The sound of Lyarra’s steady breathing telling him that his sister was not so plagued by these thoughts. _Does she not feel this?_ He wanted to know, to shake her awake and ask when she stopped caring about him as she once had. He wanted to hear her shock, her gentle voice assuring him that she would only love _him_ and nobody else, no matter she be a lady or a princess. But the thought that these were not his sister’s thoughts stayed Robb’s hand, for he could not bear to think that she did not love him equally.

When Lyarra woke once again it was to Robb’s back. She looked at him for a long moment, his hair had to his shoulders in their absence from court, as though a measurement of time. She reached out without hesitation and stroked his hair and to her surprise Robb turned and looked at her, his clear blue eyes looked conflicted at her touch so she withdrew her hand immediately, an apology in her eyes.

“Do you love me?” the words stumbled from Robb’s mouth so unapologetically that Lyarra found herself smiling gently at him.

“Of course I do,” _why does he need to ask?_

“How?”

“How?” Lyarra repeated, her brows furrowing together in confusion. “How do I love you?” when Robb nodded ever so slightly she chewed the inside of her lip for a brief moment. “I do not know, I cannot think of a time that I haven’t loved you. Even in these recent moons I have loved you, and I will always love you. How can you ask this?” The pair watched each other for a long moment before Robb responded.

“I am not continuing to Harrenhal with you.” _Now or never_ he told himself, yet regret surfaced at the look on his sister’s face.

“Why?”

“I want to be in Winterfell, with the boys” _Mother wants me to be in Winterfell, away from you in sight of the King and Prince._ He took his Mother’s words and made them his own, Lyarra did not need to run across camp to shout at their Mother, and their Mother was conflicted enough without the blame.

Of all the scenarios he had imagined Robb did not see what happened next. Lyarra rose to her feet and left in a quick and fluid moment that had her outside his tent within seconds. Panicked, Robb followed her. Jory was watching after her in confusion when Robb came from his tent.

“Lya!” He called, chasing after her despite the odd looks he got from various men who had woken with the sun. Lyarra did not stop, not even when he reached for her. Tugging her arm from his hands she continued on, running. “Please! _Please”_ Robb begged, he had more to tell her, important things that she needed to know. To hell with her Mother’s plans, the letter had been addressed to him, not his Mother. “Please, Lya please stop!” he chased her until he had her shoulders in his arms. “Please, listen, listen!” she struggled away from him, her eyes filled with tears.

“No,” she sniffed back her tears angrily. “ _You_ don’t get to tell me to stop, to listen when you _want_ to be in Winterfell and not with me. You made your choice Robb Stark so live with it! To hell with you and me and everything between us. I want nothing from you. The King will arrive today or tomorrow and then we will never see each other again. Send my regards to our brothers and Father.”

***

After her tears had dried and she had bathed Lyarra set out to find the girls. _I should at least give them my attention._ The camp was buzzing and the sun was up by the time she resurfaced from her tent, Jory followed her silently, not mentioning what he had seen between her and Robb. Instead the pair paid unnaturally close attention to the men who were preparing for the Kings Arrival, food, wine and numerous other things had been carted to the Twins already but now more tents were being raised. Although the King and Prince would sleep in the castle he would no doubt have men who needed places to sleep and the North was more than happy to help them with this. Lyarra subconsciously crossed her arms as a drip of water fell from the sky to land upon her shoulder. _Not again_ she thought mournfully, the weather had been blessedly warm for some time, with the Kings arrival quickly approaching rain was the last thing the men and women of camp needed. Jory watched Lyarra cross her arms and wondered if her wounds were troubling her today, whether the lady noticed it or not one palm rested open upon her hip where she had taken the edge of a sword. Jory remembered her coming back to camp, her face another mask and her eyes trained straight ahead as Robb trailed ever defensively behind her. Coming back from his thoughts he found himself watching the way the soldiers reacted to their lady, if they indeed saw her as that at all. _I doubt it for some_ Jory thought to himself. Where Robb had gained their respect by winning the battles Lyarra had been a constant cause of strain; nobody could touch her without the young Lord knowing and sometimes the men found it hard not to let their eyes linger on her frame.

They found Arya first, sparring with Syrio atop a hill that spared no detail of the rolling hills beyond the twins. Lyarra paused to take in the sight for the longest while, her eyes lingering on everything that her eyes touched. In the distance she could see the rain approaching in the form of heavy mists and blackening clouds. Arya caught her sister’s attention after Syrio managed to knock her wooden sword aside and when her sister’s eyes focussed on her she was glad to see her smile. It seemed the whole camp had heard of Lyarra and Robb’s fight, but it struck a chord with Arya that made her stomach sick with discomfort. She had grown watching Lyarra and Robb fight, of course she had seen them play at war with wooden swords. Her brother Jon had often been a part of those fights, but he had somehow seemed very apart from them. _Jon_ Arya missed her brother, his easy going smiles and sullenness that she loved to turn to laughter. She hadn’t understood why he had joined the watch, what honour was there in freezing on the wall? Old Nan had told her stories about the White Walkers, but they were but nursery tales told to frighten naughty children. So of course, Arya had heard them all.

“You’re getting better” Lyarra said as she came to stand beside Arya, Arya shrugged the compliment off and picked up the wooden sword once more. “Are you hungry?” she added, poking Arya in one of her arms. “You’ll need to grow some more muscle if you plan to ever best the sword of Braavos, come.” Nymeria appeared soon after the group left the hill, Syrio dismissing himself no doubt to find his own meal with faces other than the Stark children and their guard. Lyarra watched as Arya subconsciously rested her hand in Nymeria’s fur and it made her heart ache with the familiar hole that had been reserved for Ula. _At least she is alive_ she told herself, unable to imagine a world in which her or her siblings were without their Northern companions.  

The day progressed slowly, Sansa joined her sisters not long after waking and eating her own breakfast. The whispers of her siblings fight reached her ears too, but she paid them no heed. Lyarra and Robb fought constantly, they were competitive in nature. She could not think back to a time that the twins had not played at one game or another. However as Sansa thought of the numerous amounts of mischief they had gotten into she was reminded of a night she had woken to a storm. She had risen from her bed and opened her door to see Lyarra walking down the hallway of the castle. She had appeared more a ghost than an actual girl. She had looked pale against the flame light and her hair itself had seemed like fire. Sansa had been stunned, afraid until Lyarra had turned on her and asked her if she was okay.

“Sansa?” Lyarra raised an eyebrow at her sister who had been staring misty eyed into the distance for the last hour whilst she played at war with Arya, Jory sat nearby beneath a tall tree. The rain still fell and like mist it clung to them, making their skin shiver with chill. “Aren’t you ready to go inside?”

“Inside?” Sansa frowned and noticed Jory watching their conversation. She wondered if he had told anybody why she was so close to Lyarra’s tent when Ramsey had intruded. _I couldn’t sleep_ she had said to the man when she had appeared before him, ashamed. _You have more in common with your sister than you think_ had been the only words Jory could say before Lyarra had called out.

“One of the tents” Lyarra laughed and Sansa smiled gently with her.

The three Stark girls and their shadow arrived back in camp and in Lyarra’s tent, by the time it came around the sun had begun to shine again and heat clung to the ground like dung to a book. Arya let out a complaint that made Lyarra laugh and Sansa frown at the way her sister had begun to cuss since arriving in this camp. When Lyarra looked at Sansa’s concerned face she stopped laughing but squeezed Arya’s arm in comfort. Sansa was their sister, no matter what they found funny or not; she had to stop favouring the one that acted more in her favour. After the servants brought them basins to clean their faces the girls changed into clean dry clothes and Sansa braided her sister’s hair, when it came to be her turn Lyarra braided two tiny braids on either side of her head and braided them together in the back. _Let your hair out for once_ she said when Sansa’s expression looked anything but amused. Despite herself she let it be.

By the time the three had finished their day of play the sun was beginning to lower in their muggy camp. Taking a stroll that Jory followed until the trio settled on a hillock with two great Direwolves to watch the sun set. Jory watched as though by magic as the sun set and with it the three girls seemed to become tired, Arya resting her head in Lyarra’s lap as she watched the sun set across the horizon, Nymeria behind the two girls whilst Lady and Sansa rested close by, Sansa’s head resting against her Direwolf’s neck. Jory too felt the mugginess of the day seep into his bones and cause his eyes to droop.

***

 _His face had become so familiar in her dreams that it irritated her that she could not remember him in her waking moments. His grip was tight in this dream but his eyes were dark, bleeding pools replaced his usual fire and it unnerved Lyarra. Touching his face she found that his skin was cool, clammy to touch as though he had a fever._ You have to wake up _he told her, his voice laced with worry._ They’re coming _his voice pleaded and Lyarra was suddenly reminded of Robb. wake, wake, wake a million voices cried in unison all of a sudden – her silver haired friend vanished in an instant and –_

Lyarra woke suddenly to somebody shaking her vigorously, beside her Arya’s eyes were wide with fright but her face was oddly disfigured by an odd veil between them.

“Arya?” Lyarra tried to talk but somebodies hand grabbed at her, Jory, his face wrought with fright as he lifted her.

“The camp is burning, I fell asleep online for a moment my Lady – I swear I didn’t…” his voice trailed off and Lyarra looked around, Sansa came close to her side and with Arya tucked under one of her arms Lyarra took her two sisters along with her as she followed Jory.

The smoke was suffocating, horses cried and the sound of steel against steel echoed in Lyarra’s ears. Jory had his sword out the instant the girls began to follow him, yet it wasn’t until Lyarra ran past him that he began to worry. _WAIT!_ He called out, but the sounds that surrounded them drowned out his voice. With the two younger Stark girls in tow Jory followed Lyarra in fear of losing her. He found her where he thought he would, in her tent flinging her bow over her shoulder but before Jory could grab her she was gone again, running through the camp of confusion, towing her guard and sisters behind her.

Lyarra was drowning in smoke, her lungs were on fire as she ran. _Where is Robb? Where is everyone?_ She could hear men fighting but the camp seemed almost empty of men, twice she passed burning corpses and twice she checked them for any sign of familiarity. The relief that coursed through her veins when she did not shamed her. By the time she reached Robb’s tent it was afire and her heart seemed to burn with it. _No_ she turned to see Jory with the girls, both of them wide eyed and afraid. _Father will take us back_ she thought quickly, wondering if the Frey’s had anything to do with the goings on. Despite the fire Lyarra ran into the tent; Robb’s furs were on fire, the draping’s that lined the tent walls burnt but still she saw the glint of steel. _Ice_ Lyarra knew that Robb would never leave Ice alone, it was their Father’s sword. The sword of Winterfell. The thought made her numb but she took the hilt, and carried the sword unevenly outside. Jory watched in confusion until he noticed the sword, he took it from Lyarra’s grip and herded the trio of girls back towards safety. Blindly they followed him, their ears ringing with unfamiliar sounds. Nymeria and Lady growled every time they came too near the flames, it wasn’t until they reached a nearby tree line that trouble came.

A group of soldiers and their horses seemed to be waiting for them, their horses tied to nearby trees and torches set with fire in their hands. The wicked glint of their swords and smiles turned them from saviours to danger in a manner of seconds, Lyarra reached for her bow quickly, but in that time three men had approached Jory. The two wolves stood close by their mistresses.

“Wait!” Lyarra called, causing the soldiers attention to be diverted for a single moment, the moment afterwards a Direwolf with an auburn coat came through the smoke, bushes and noise to strike at the throat of one of the men. The moments moved so quickly after that that Lyarra wasn’t sure she saw the other two wolves strike or the men fall but all of a sudden she stood with her bow at the ready and no men to strike at.

Jory and the girls looked just as confused, the blood that now coated their wolves the least of their worries. They had all seen them eat, it was Ula who drew their eyes. Her snout had cuts, and she was _big,_ bigger than her sisters. Lyarra went to her quickly, checking her overall for any more wounds, when she came up empty handed she left one of her hands in the wolf’s fur. Soon after Jory took three of the horses from their tethers and the four mounted, Arya with Lyarra and Jory and Sansa alone. They rode towards the river, following it out of the smoke until they were come upon once more, these men wore Frey colours and Lyarra felt her stomach clench with fear.

“Lyarra!” Sansa cried when her horse paused with fear and shied away, back towards the tree line where unbeknown to her more Frey’s began to emerge. “Lya!” Sansa’s voice cracked as somebody grabbed her reins, Lady jumped at the man, scaring his horse but his speak emerged through the wolf’s head. The sound that escaped both girl and wolf made Lyarra’s heart lurch but she couldn’t move. Immobilized by fear as she watched the Frey man pull his spear from Lady’s skull and the wolf fell to the ground with a heavy thud. Nymeria and Ula cried out in unison and Lyarra caught Sansa’s eyes for the longest moment until she turned with Arya in her arms and fled. Jory close behind. “Lyarra! _Please_!”

 _I have no choice_ Lyarra told herself, Arya felt small in her arms, smaller than she had seemed in a very long time. Behind her she could hear the sound of Sansa’s crying, her pleading and her sobs. _I have no choice_ she told herself again _I cannot save you both, I cannot save myself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to finish this in three separate writings. The Wolves Wings, no doubt was the beginning. Following this will be another work by the title The Wandering Wolf, lame I know. I am not a beautiful writer like so many on this site, but I am so grateful for the support many of you have shown me and promise to continue this for any future curiosity you may have about Lyarra's life. Thank you!


End file.
